


A Torch in the Night

by OccamsRzr



Category: House M.D.
Genre: F/M, Post-Series, Reconciliation, Reunion
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-21
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:47:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 34,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26585362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OccamsRzr/pseuds/OccamsRzr
Summary: "Almost dying changes nothing. Dying changes everything." After leaving Princeton, Cuddy thought she moved on. A couple years later, a phone call from Wilson shatters that illusion. House was dead. A few months after that call, everything changes when Cuddy meets Wilson to say goodbye. House is alive, and they're left to work through their grief for Wilson, their conflicted feelings about each other, and House's legal issues together. A post-series Huddy reunion story
Relationships: Lisa Cuddy/Greg House
Comments: 15
Kudos: 29





	1. Chapter 1

The cool stone under her yoga mat provided a welcome contrast to the warm sun. She focused on her senses- that contrast, the delicate smell of the late Spring blooms, the sounds of birds chirping, the lingering taste of her morning tea. A quiet morning to sit outside and practice her meditation was a rare treat in an otherwise busy life, and she appreciated the calm.

_Breathe in. Breathe ou-_

Cuddy groaned as the ringing phone cut through the quiet, harshly bringing her back to reality. Putting the phone on silent was not a luxury afforded to her, not as a hospital administrator or as a mother who'd dropped her daughter off for a playdate that morning. Cursing the interruption, she stood to pick up her cellphone from the patio table and looked at the caller ID before answering.

Wilson.

She smiled at the name, even as anxiety slowly bubbled inside her. It wasn't a crisis at the hospital. It wasn't a 4-year-old having a meltdown at a playdate without her mother. It was Wilson, one of her best friends. One who had seen her through the most horrific experiences of her life and all the changes that had come after. The anxiety grew stronger as the phone kept ringing. It was also Wilson who was dying. Wilson who never called at this time- they normally talked in the evening with a glass of wine in hand. Something had to be wrong. His prognosis gave him another 5 months, but cancer didn't always play by the rules. Cancer didn't keep a calendar to know that it was too soon.

She took a deep breath to steady herself and force a happy tone as she answered, "Wilson! What a surprise! How are you?"

"Cu- Cuddy," she heard through choked sobs on the other end of the line. Her anxiety grew as she listened to the quiet sobs. Wilson hadn't even sounded this devastated when he called and told her about his diagnosis, nor when he told her about his decision to stop treatment.

"Wilson, I'm here. Are you okay? Do you need me to come?"

She'd prepared herself for this. She'd prepared herself to go hold his hand in his last hours. She just thought there would be more time. Cuddy started to mentally plan everything she would need to take care of to leave and get to him before Wilson cut her off.

"No," Wilson choked again, "Cuddy, it's House."

"House?! What did he do now?"

"Cuddy, he's—he's gone."

Anger boiled up in her. House. The man she'd loved for more than 20 years. The man whose antics challenged her more than anyone before her since. The man she spent hours verbally sparring with. The man who drove a car through her house, forcing her to uproot her entire life.

"Wilson," she sighed, "what did he do now? What foreign country has he run off to this time?" Bitterness seeped into her tone as she asked, remembering that fateful day. Remembering the months before that day. Remembering the months he spent hiding on a beach while she struggled to pick up the shattered pieces of her home and her life. She'd hoped that House could be there for Wilson in these last months. It was just like him, she thought, to abandon Wilson now. He hadn't been able to be there with her through her own cancer scare so she didn't know why she ever expected him to be there for Wilson.

"No. He's not—he didn't—Cuddy, he's dead. House is dead."

The world tilted as she processed Wilson's words. Her legs felt weak. She slid into the patio chair beside her and pushed her hair from her face. Stunned, she sat a moment before remembering to breathe. With a deep breath, she rubbed her face and asked, "What? How?"

"House wasn't coping with everything." _Go figure_ , she thought, _he never copes_. "It's a long story, but a prank went bad, and he was going back to jail. He just—his last patient was a heroin addict. He was in a warehouse. It was on fire. I just—Foreman and I—we just couldn't get him in time."

Cuddy didn't know what to say. She felt like she'd spent a lifetime preparing for House's death. She'd recommended a risky surgery that saved his life, seen him after he was shot, breathed life into his lungs as Wilson performed CPR, and held his hand while he was in a coma after deep brain stimulation. She'd seen him technically die so many times she started to think he was invincible. As the memories flooded over her, she realized Wilson was still talking, vaguely registering that he was offering funeral details.

"Can you come?" She heard him ask. "Will you be there?"

"I—I can't. I'm sorry, Wilson. I—" she stumbled over what to say. "If I come, it will—everyone will focus on that. It'll be about our past, our drama. There's too much there. I just—let the day be about him, not whispers about us. I—it wouldn't be good for anyone." She hoped Wilson would understand. As much as she hated House for what he'd done, she wanted his funeral to honor the greatest medical mind of their generation, not be mired with the drama of their past.

"I understand. I just wanted to let you know…" Wilson trailed off. They sat for a moment in silence, neither knowing what more to say before he finally said he had to go to help with the arrangements. They said goodbye, promising to talk soon.

The air felt thick as she sat in the chair, still struggling to catch her breath. House was dead. She rose and slid the sliding glass door open, heading back to her bedroom. She walked to the closet and flipped on the light before reaching to the top shelf to pull down the box she wanted. Hugging the box to her chest, she stumbled to the bed and turned on the iPod docked on the nightstand. She fell on top of the thick comforter, grief and shock sapping her of all strength. Finally, she rolled to her side, placed the box beside her, and gently lifted the lid.

The picture she wanted was right on top, alongside a small stuffed penguin. She quietly laughed at the memory of House walking into her office with the "peace penguin" as she lightly ran her fingers over the soft plush. Carefully, she lifted the picture from the box as a single tear slid down her cheek. It was a Vegas Nights oncology benefit. She was dressed in a long blue gown with a big smile on her face as she stood between tuxedo-clad House and Wilson. Wilson looked at the camera with his shy smile while House smirked in the camera's general direction. The tears continued to fall as the song changed on her iPod.

_I miss your smell and your style and your pure abiding way_  
_Miss your approach to life and your body in my bed_  
_Miss your take on anything and the music you would play_  
_Miss cracking up and wrestling and our debriefs at end of day_

She'd forgotten downloading this song shortly after their breakup. It struck her particularly hard as she thought of his style—his t-shirts, wrinkled button downs, jeans, and sneakers. His unique approach to life and various mantras. The passionate sex life they'd shared. She knew she should hate him, but the loss of his opinions and his music felt particularly heavy. She missed their bantering, their teasing, and recapping the day with him.

_These are the things that I miss_  
_These are not times for the weak of heart_  
_These are the days of raw despondence_  
_I never dreamed I would have to lay down my torch for you like this_

In that moment, she recognized the power of denial. She thought she was through this. She thought she'd already grieved House. She thought she should hate him. But as the finality of his death sank it, she recognized the fine line between love and hate. She hated him because she loved him, and she felt the loss so deeply it ripped those scars open.

_One step, one prayer, I soldier on, simulating moving on_

Moving on. She thought she'd moved on. She'd moved her house. Her job. Her life. But apparently not her heart. House was gone. Wilson would be gone in months. And Cuddy would be left to try to move on.

**tbc**


	2. Chapter 2

* * *

_It's been all too easy  
To cross my arms and roll my eyes  
The thought of dropping all arms  
Leaves me terrified_

_And now I see the madness in me  
It's brought out in the presence of you  
Now I know the madness lives on  
When you're not in the room  
-Alanis Morissette "Madness"_

* * *

Spring slipped into Summer and Summer into Fall as Cuddy tried to move on while grieving the two most incredible men she had ever known. Wilson was, as far as she knew, still alive, but she steadied herself every morning waiting for the call that would soon come.

On that October afternoon, Cuddy hadn't heard from Wilson in nearly a month. Just days after House's funeral, Wilson left Princeton to travel the country on a motorcycle. He called Cuddy the night before he left, explaining that he was supposed to take this trip with House and felt he still needed to do it. He wanted to live out the remaining good days he had and experience everything he'd planned with House. She tried to talk him out of it— begged him to stay with his friends and family for his final months. Wilson just insisted, "House is dead. I'm going to be dead soon, Cuddy. This is how I want to spend my last five months." Cuddy chuckled sadly at that. Running away was House's thing, and Wilson was going to carry on the legacy. A silent tear had fallen as she asked him to keep in touch and make sure she had the chance to say goodbye.

Goodbye. The closure she never got with House. She couldn't let Wilson go without it too.

She was in her office preparing for an upcoming board meeting when her phone dinged with an incoming text.

_I promised you a goodbye... can you come tonight?_

Cuddy put her phone on the desk and dropped her head to her hands as her vision clouded over with tears. In her career, she faced death every day. She'd spent months preparing for this day. None of that managed to ease the sharp pain of loss she felt. She heard the light sound of tears falling on her paperwork before sitting back and wiping her face. With a few deep, meditative breaths, she calmed herself and put on her administrator face. There were things to take care of. Her grief could wait. Picking her phone back up, she typed, _Of course I'll be there. Are you back in Princeton?_

Strengthened by her administrator shield, Cuddy got to work. Her fingers flew over the keyboard as she sent emails preparing for her absence. There were lectures to cover and meetings to reschedule. This was where she thrived—taking care of the business at hand allowed her a reprieve from the emotions that threatened to overwhelm her.

Her phone dinged again, _No, Hershey, PA. I wanted one last chocolate tour. I saved a bar for you._

Cuddy laughed in spite of herself. Wilson, a caregiver to the very end, would think to save chocolate for her. Her self-imposed ban on sweets was always called off for PMS and sadness. This would certainly qualify as a time to share a chocolate bar with a friend… if he could still eat.

With an absence from work attended to, she set to making plans for Rachel. At first, she thought she could drop her off with her sister, Julia, but that wouldn't work if Wilson was in Hershey. Fifteen minutes later, she had a plan in place and an address for a hotel in Hershey, PA. Her nanny would keep Rachel overnight and meet Julia halfway in the morning. Cuddy assumed Wilson's funeral would be in Princeton so she could pick Rachel up there.

She left the hospital to go home and pack a suitcase and say goodbye to Rachel before making the hour and 45 minute drive from Baltimore to Hershey.

* * *

In a small 2-star hotel in Hershey, PA, Wilson laid on a double bed drawing shallow breaths. His chapped lips stung as his mouth opened. House limped to the side of the bed and drug a chair to sit beside Wilson. Wilson felt House's vibrant, blue eyes staring at him, assessing his condition. He stared back at House with tired brown eyes, assessing his friend's mental state. They both knew time was short. Wilson's condition had deteriorated rapidly over the last week. Leaning back in the chair, House handed Wilson a cup of ice. House's mood was tracking with Wilson's condition and declining by the day. Today he was so withdrawn he had hardly spoken.

"Here, keep your mouth from drying out."

Wilson nodded and closed his eyes as he took the cup, condensation dripping onto the sheets. He needed to keep his strength up. He had a plan he needed to see through. An alarm chimed on his phone. He had to play this right. House could see right through him, typically anticipated every move. He needed to make sure House didn't expect anything this time. Wilson contorted his face into an expression of pain and croaked, "House, that's the alarm for my pain meds."

It wasn't. It was the alarm Wilson set to tell him that Cuddy should be there in about 20 minutes.

House pushed himself from the chair and smirked, "Jimmy boy, have I taught you nothing? You don't need alarms. You take them when you're in _pain_."

Wilson pushed his head back on the plush pillow and laughed as House starting limping to the bathroom to retrieve the pills. "Yeah, that's why you ate them like candy for years… and why you haven't taken any in five months even though you're still in pain."

He turned to see grief and remorse flash over House's face. The burdens of his past seemed to press down on him as his shoulders sagged. In a rare vulnerable moment when he decided to detox at the beginning of the trip, House confessed his reasons for the decision. When Cuddy broke up with House, she told him that he wasn't truly there for her, not if he was on Vicodin, not if he was dulling the pain. House admitted then that he wanted to be fully present for Wilson in these last months.

Just as quickly as the expression came, House straightened and hardened his expression. "Yeah, my stash was only going to go so far if we were both taking him." Deflection. While it was true, House would say anything to steer this conversation from his emotional state. That was okay. Wilson was still working on a schedule and didn't have time to lecture House.

"Actually, House, I have an idea. I don't want the pills right now."

House turned and raised an eyebrow questioningly. He knew Wilson was in pain. He could see the effort in every breath. Before House could call him an idiot or tell him suffering through was not some noble cause, Wilson cut him off.

"I don't want them because I have a better idea. I want to share one last bottle of Scotch with my best friend."

House turned away again, not wanting Wilson to see the grief he felt at those words. He was trying to embrace sharing in his friend's pain, but he was still holding back on sharing his own. He leaned against the wall behind him and spun his cane as he thought. One last night of drinks with Wilson would be nice, and he probably didn't have many more good nights left.

Finally, he spoke, "We don't have any liquor here."

"So go to the liquor store down the street. There's cash in my wallet."

House merely nodded and grabbed the keys, shouting back as he walked out the door, "We're getting the good stuff tonight, Jimmy. You're buying!"

A genuine laugh escaped Wilson, followed by a grimace as it increased the pain in his chest. He would expect nothing less of House. Relief washed over him as he glanced at his phone and noted the time. He'd cut it close on timing getting House out of the room. He sent Cuddy a text with the room number and slowly rose from the bed to wait for her in the chair beside him. Just a few minutes later, he heard a quiet knock on the door.

The effort of walking across the room to open the door left him winded. The light knocks came again as he tried to draw a deep breath before opening the door to greet her. The look on Cuddy's face as she came into view instantly took him back in time. Wilson had only seen that particular expression—fear, pain, worry, sadness—once before, when she opened the door to his office with a broken, hallucinating House right behind her. It pained Wilson to know she wore it for him this time. He looked away from her sad, blue-gray eyes and inspected the pattern of the red carpet before he felt Cuddy throw her arms around his neck and step closer, into a tight hug. She clung to him in a way that struck Wilson as so out of character for her. He'd seen her strong so often. Classy with a sexy streak on most occasions. Vulnerable in just a handful. The only time he remembered her holding him like this was when Amber was dying and he broke down. How fitting it was that the next time would be when she was coming to say goodbye as she'd encouraged him to do with Amber.

Finally, Cuddy pulled back from the hug and held him at arms' length to look him over. Wilson knew the doctor in her was appraising his short breaths and pained movements, his gaunt figure swallowed by his old McGill sweatshirt and a pair of sweatpants. The friend in her was looking deeper, assessing his emotional state. Before she had the opportunity to check his pulse or respiration, Wilson broke the silence.

"I'm okay, Cuddy. I knew what this would be like."

"Wilson." He saw guilt wash across her face as his name came out as a breath. House was right—her guilt complex could swallow whole cities.

"No, Cuddy, stop. I chose this. I spent a career encouraging my patients to fight to the end, and I saw the toll it took. I lived—really lived—these last few months. I spent most of my adult life at the hospital. I didn't want to waste away there. You couldn't have changed my mind. Now, come in."

Brushing the unshed tears from her eyes, Cuddy nodded and followed Wilson deeper into the room and sat beside him at the small table. He noticed her arched eyebrow as she took in the two rumpled double beds. To distract her, Wilson started talking again. He wasn't ready to have that conversation yet, and Cuddy's deduction skills had always been sharp. She was one of the only people on the world who could keep up with House. If he didn't pull her attention from the subtle clues around the room, she would figure everything out. She hadn't spoken yet except for the breath of his name so he tried to engage her in conversation.

Wilson flashed his trademark "boy wonder" grin and said, "You look good. Catch me up. How's work? How's Rachel?" _That should do it_ , he thought _, talking about her two babies should keep her occupied._

At the mention of Rachel's name, Cuddy's whole demeanor relaxed and her lips spread into a huge, captivating smile. _Jackpot_. She jumped right into the topic she was most excited to discuss.

"Rachel is doing so well. She missed the age cutoff to enter Kindergarten this year, but her nanny in Baltimore studied elementary education so she's been working through the curriculum with her. She's reading Level 1 books right now… we read every night after I get home from work. Thankfully with two associate administrators under me, I'm typically home by 5. She's also been taking dance classes. Her first dance recital will be in December. And she's taking piano lessons…" Cuddy trailed off a bit on that statement. They both knew where that influence had come from. Shaking her head, she collected herself, "Here, let me show you a video of her practicing."

As Cuddy swiped through her phone to find the video she wanted, a keycard clicked in the lock and the door swung open.

"Willllsonnnnnnnnn… I got some good Scotch and a deck of car—" House stopped when he saw the other figure in the room. At the sound of his voice, Cuddy turned her head back toward the door. Her jaw dropped as she took in the face of the man she never thought she'd see again. Vibrant blue and blue-gray eyes locked in on one another as they both stayed frozen in place. Wilson sat, motionless, watching them and hoping this wouldn't blow up in front of him.

Cuddy was the first to break the still of the room and stood. The light tap of her designer heels on the flat carpet broke the silence as she walked over to House and reached up to touch his face. She slid her palm along his cheek as if she was ensuring herself that he was real. House closed his eyes at the caress, equally unsure if she was real.

"You're supposed to be dead," Cuddy finally said, pulling her hand away.

"I am. And I've been dead to you for years so what's it matter anyway?"

A loud slap rang out in the room as Cuddy's palm connected again with House's cheek. "You son of a bitch. You drove your car _into my house._ You turned my dining room into a garage and you have the _nerve_ to act like you _shouldn't_ have been dead to me? You were! The House I loved _was_ because he never would have done something like that to me." Sobs started breaking her voice. " But still, after Wilson called, I grieved you." She balled her fists and began punching House's chest in rapid succession, falling into him as she did. "I thought you were dead. I grieved you," she repeated, crying until she wore herself out. House reached out and encircled her with his arms to stop the assault as she leaned slack against him. Quickly, she pushed herself away and turned back to Wilson with anger flashing in her eyes.

"And you," she said in a low voice as she walked over to point a finger into Wilson's chest, "You lied to me. You told me he was dead. You _let me_ grieve him when he was still alive!"

Wilson twisted his hands in each other, feeling exhaustion starting wash over him. He knew he had to make his point quickly or lose his chance. "When I called you, I still thought he was dead! I didn't even know until after the funeral. And I didn't—"

House cut him off, overwhelmed by the situation and needing his defense mechanisms to get him through this. Snark would have to do, though he was sure it would only piss both Cuddy and Wilson off. "Way to invite the harpy to our party, Wilson. You always were like a meddling old Jewish aunt. Though," House stopped, looking Cuddy over, "I can see why you'd want to check out Patty and Selma one last time. They are still looking pretty perky. And that rotundas a—"

"Enough!" Cuddy wiped the stray tears that were still falling from her face.

Before she could continue, Wilson cut her off. All three were trying to talk over one another, and he needed to get control of this situation. He wiped his hands down his face and dropped his bombshell, "Cuddy. House. It's time. I'm ready for the morphine, and I didn't want to die without _both_ of my best friends by my side."

**tbc**


	3. Chapter 3

* * *

_Grief knits two hearts in closer bonds  
than happiness ever can;  
and common sufferings are far stronger links  
than common joys._

_-Alphonse de Lamartine  
_

* * *

Wilson's words hung heavy in the air, punctuated by a raspy breath. The morphine. _The_ morphine. It wasn't unexpected that Wilson would need morphine to control his pain as the cancer progressively took over his system, but the article he placed before the drug's name carried significant weight. _The_. The fatal dose of morphine that would slow his heart and suppress his respiration until they both stopped. The dose that would end Wilson's suffering… end his life.

None of them were unfamiliar with the concept. Cuddy knew that both House and Wilson had done it for terminal patients before. She flashed back to a conversation with House years before after Ezra Powell died overnight. When Cuddy asked if he knew anything about it, House simply said, "If I did, would you really want to know?" The truth was she didn't. She never probed for details because she trusted both House and Wilson's judgements for their patients and needed to maintain plausible deniability. Publicly, she advocated that they were doctors—they saved lives, not facilitated the end of them. Privately, she believed that "First do no harm" was a complicated concept. Sometimes the greatest harm to a patient was allowing the suffering to continue. Her career and her license depended on maintaining her public perception, on not knowing. Now, Wilson was standing before her asking her to be an active participant in his death.

House looked between Wilson and Cuddy as he weighed Wilson's revelation. Early in their trip, Wilson broached the subject of the end of his life, but House wasn't ready to discuss it. _Cancer's boring_. Boring, ugly, and painful. The ugly and painful had started to set in. Wilson was losing weight quickly, and his energy was quickly drained. Increasing headaches and pain were sure signs the cancer was spreading throughout his body. Each breath Wilson drew sounded raspy and strained. Quickly, House cataloged the symptoms he observed on his mental whiteboard and came to a somber conclusion—Wilson was right. It was time for the conversation he'd put off for so many months.

Expectantly, Wilson watch his best friends process what he said and paced the small space in front of him. He watched as Cuddy bit her bottom lip and fiddled with the bracelet on her wrist then turned and took in House's distant stare. With a deep breath, Cuddy smoothed her jacket and skirt and lowered herself back into her chair. She'd weighed through everything, wrestled her guilt, and was switching into her administrator mode. House blinked and focused back on the room, his epiphany obviously reached. Both Cuddy and House turned at the same time, staring at each other, holding a conversation through the gaze as Wilson looked on.

"You idiot…" came a growl from House's direction. He let that statement linger as he limped to the bed and sat on the end, rubbing his right thigh with his fist.

Wilson sighed as Cuddy watched House with a puzzled expression. He rubbed both hands down his face and snapped, "No. No, House, you don't get to—"

"You idiot," House repeated. "We _can't_ do it. Not tonight. Not here."

"You don't get to say that! You can't keep putting it off. I'm dying, House. It's not about _you!_ "

Cuddy watched the men volley their arguments back and forth. She knew how hard this had to be for House, even if he would never bring himself to admit it. As she studied Wilson further though, she could see why he was ready. He looked like a shell of her friend.

"It's not about me! We can't do it with _her_ here!" House stared at Wilson as he spoke, low and serious, but swept his gaze and an arm in Cuddy's direction as he finished his statement.

Cuddy felt her anger reignite with his statement. He was using her as an excuse to ignore Wilson's wishes and trying to exclude her from being there for her friend. Same old selfish House making everything about him. _This is why we never worked. This is why we could never work. It's always about him. He's uncomfortable with me here so he has to punish Wilson for calling._ She narrowed her eyes and stood, bracing her palms on the table in front of her.

"Me?! This is about me?! Don't go there, House. Don't. This is about you. You and your inability-"

"Of course it's about you!" House shouted in reply. Sensing that she was ready to cut in to continue her lecture, he shot her a glare as he lowered his voice and continued, "You're here, Cuddy. You walked through the lobby and came to this room. There are cameras in the lobby, in the elevator, and out in the hall. You're here, on film!"

Both Wilson and Cuddy were staring at him, trying to figure out his point. House threw his head back and asked, "How do you really think this is going to work? We do it then call 911? Or Wilson, would you rather we leave and let you rot until Housekeeping finds you?"

Putting the pieces together, Cuddy whispered, "No matter what, there's an investigation, and they could pull the security tapes."

House nodded at her conclusion while he shifted his cane from hand to hand. Wilson protested, "I'm a terminal cancer patient. They won't investigate."

The motion of House's cane stilled. He wrapped both hands around the top and dropped his chin on them. "Okay class, let's review. What's one of the first things they'll do after an unattended death in a hotel room?"

Drained from the conversation, Wilson struggled to keep up with House's thinking. There was once a time when he could keep up with his friend's thought process, but exhaustion and brain fog now left him struggling to connect the pieces. Finally, Wilson drew his lips into a thin line and answered, "Of course, an autopsy."

"Where they'll find the fatal levels of morphine," Cuddy finished.

House's point finally became clear to Wilson. "Which will trigger an investigation, where they could see Cuddy on camera around the time of my death."

Satisfied that they finally understood, House gave a quick nod and turned back to Cuddy, "So yeah, it is about you, but not for the reasons your narcissistic little mind created. It's about you not losing your license. You not going to prison for murder. Trust me, you don't want to go there."

Cuddy winced at his last comment, and guilt washed over her face.

"You're protecting her. Just like you tried to protect me at the conference in New York," Wilson smirked with his arms crossed over his chest.

The mention of that conference stunned Cuddy. Her face paled as her guilt deepened. She'd been so wrapped up in caring for Rachel and spending time with Lucas that she didn't even know anything happened between the men there. Then the memories of House finding Lucas in her room came flooding back, and she closed her eyes to hold back the emotions they brought forth.

"Wh- what happened at that conference?" she croaked.

"Oh Jimmy boy here just tried to commit career suicide by standing up in front of a room full of people and admitting he killed patients. So I drugged him and gave the speech for him." House shrugged with the admission.

"House! I didn't—don't say it like that. I didn't _kill_ patients. I just… administered a higher than standard dose of opiates."

"Rationalization Man to the rescue!"

"And don't act like you never did it! What about Ezra Powell?"

"That…" House paused, "was Cameron."

Both Cuddy and Wilson stared at him with slack jaws and exclaimed, " _Cameron?!_ "

House shrugged again before admitting, "But that doesn't mean I never did."

Overwhelmed by the revelations she just heard, Cuddy blinked and held a hand to her mouth. She always assumed Wilson and House both euthanized patients, but Cameron? That was a surprise she never expected. And House publicly gave a speech admitting to it—while he worked for her?

"You gave a speech admitting to euthanizing patients? How—"

"Nope, I didn't. Dr. Perlmutter did."

"House," Cuddy breathed out, "what if someone recognized you? You could have lost your license! You could have gone to jail!"

"That's _exactly_ why Wilson couldn't read the paper." His voice dropped, "And why you can't be here now. That's the past… let's worry about the present."

All three doctors paused at that, remembering the root of this conversation. Wilson's death. Assisting Wilson's death.

Wilson's head dropped as he spoke, "He's right, Cuddy. You can't be here. It's different in a hotel than it was at the hospital. They'll investigate. You could lose everything."

Cuddy turned her attention back to House before she spoke, "But you're on camera too. Even if I wasn't here, they could find you."

With his chin still resting on his cane, House stared at her with a blank expression. "I'm dead, Cuddy. There's nothing left for me to lose."

The months she spent grieving came rushing back to her. It was so easy to forget he was legally dead, that she'd spent months devastated by his supposed death, when he was sitting in front of her. House filled every room he occupied with his brash personality. She twirled her bracelet again, contemplating this situation. House was alive. Wilson wanted her to assist his death. It was all so surreal.

"We need a plan," she told them.

"NO! The only plan we need is for you to go home to Rachel and let me take care of Wilson. You can go to his funeral as the dutiful, bereaved friend and keep your perfect little life intact."

With the precision only he had mastered, House had poked a sharp stick at a particularly tender spot for Cuddy. Life felt far from perfect anymore. While she still enjoyed her work, it didn't fulfill her the way running PPTH did. The hospital she ran now was renowned for its trauma unit, not for a department she created and helped build. It was larger than PPTH, but that kept her from being as hands on as she had been. Her love life was non-existent. She didn't have an infuriating, brilliant, ruggedly sexy doctor to keep in line everyday. Not to mention the ache she felt in her heart for that doctor. Her life was missing a piece without him. She was bored. It all felt so common, and common was boring.

"Perfect?! Ha… my so called 'perfect' life ended when you parked your car in my dining room but good try."

House's lips fell to a frown. He wanted to believe her life was perfect now. He spent two years convincing himself that she was better off in the end. That she was happy without him. That he hadn't destroyed her as much as he destroyed himself on that fateful day.

Cuddy ignored the pain that washed over House's face and the way he aggressively rubbed his thigh and turned to Wilson. "I'm not abandoning you Wilson. Now let's plan."

A wry grin turned the corner of Wilson's lips up. "Okay. We'll plan. Then it's time for some Scotch and poker."

* * *

They had a plan. It wasn't perfect, but no plan could be. Cuddy went to the front desk and booked a room for herself. They needed to ensure she was seen checking out. Then she would back to Baltimore and visit the local market and chat with some of her neighbors. Most of them were so busy they would only be able to attest to seeing her in Baltimore that day if questioned. It was a tenuous alibi but would offer some evidence that she was hours from Hershey. After making sure she was seen in town, she would drive back to Hershey.

Meanwhile, Wilson would visit the continental breakfast in the lobby a couple hours after Cuddy checked out. By the time he was last seen alive, she should have witnesses placing her in Baltimore. House would load the car, an old beater registered in Wilson's name that they bought when Wilson could no longer manage the strain of the motorcycle, while Wilson ate. After breakfast, Wilson would go to the room to grab one remaining bag and go back to the lobby to check out. House would try to remain out of camera view as much as possible.

They all picked a small roadside motel to meet at. It was far enough from the hotel they were staying in but still close enough to the large hospital in Hershey for someone as ill as Wilson looked to check into alone. It didn't appear to be to be the sort of place with tight security measures, and there was direct access to the room from the parking lot. No lobby to worry about. Cuddy doubted there were even working surveillance cameras there.

Once she arrived home, Cuddy would send Wilson a text message saying it was good to see him again and ask him to let her know once he made it back to Princeton. To anyone reading the texts, it would sound like Wilson was going home for his last days and Cuddy was home in Baltimore. From that point on, there would be no more communication until Cuddy was back in Hershey. House would leave a note in Wilson's car with the room number at the motel. Then they could take care of the business at hand.

* * *

"House, quit staring at my breasts and take your damn turn."

"Damn Cuddy, you're still as bossy as ever. And I wasn't staring at Patty and Selma. I was looking for your tell."

"Wh—her—her tell is on her breasts?"

House winked at Wilson and raised. The three old friends had settled into a comfortable camaraderie after the tense conversations of the early evening. Cuddy and House both set aside old hurts and snark for Wilson. This was Wilson's night. That didn't, however, mean that any of the trio was willing to take it easy on the others in the game. They treated it as if it was old times and Wilson's death wasn't lingering over them.

"Oh, there's a lot I could tell you about those girls, Wilson. Like how Cuddy likes when you—"

Cuddy slapped House's arm to keep him from continuing that sentence.

"He's _dying_ , Cuddy. Can't you grant the man one last fantasy?" She narrowed his eyes at him and House gulped. "Fine. Use your imagination, Jimmy boy. But multiply that by a thousand. No… a million."

Wilson laughed, and the trio carried on until the bottle of Scotch was empty and Wilson's exhaustion took over. He stood from the small table and shuffled to the bed, too tired to fully lift his feet. As he watched his two best friends laugh and joke with one another, Wilson closed his eyes and smiled. _It's a start_ , he thought. _They'll get each other through this_.

Noticing Wilson had fallen asleep, Cuddy pushed the last of her chips into the pot.

"He's asleep. And I should get to my room. I need to leave early tomorrow."

House nodded and called her bet. There was no bluff. They both knew he had her beat and the game was over. Neither wanted to end the game and face the realities of the coming day, but they knew they needed rest. It was a long day ahead. When the last card flipped, House drug the chips in front of him and stared at Cuddy. For a moment, neither said anything, only communicating through the deep stare they gave one another. Finally, Cuddy stood.

"I should go now."

"Yeah, we'll see you at the motel."

Cuddy stepped forward and wrapped her arms around House's waist.

"Yeah, I'll see you there. Goodnight House."

"Goodnight Cuddy."

With that, she walked out the door.

* * *

Everything went according to plan… mostly. After too little rest and too much scotch, Wilson was having a bad day. He was slow to rise in the morning and had little appetite for the breakfast he needed to be seen for. Only the ding of Cuddy's text letting him know she was back in Baltimore got him moving. They had a plan, and he needed to keep to the plan. He needed to keep her safe, and this was the only way.

House watched from the car as Wilson checked in at the roadside motel and palmed the bottle of morphine in his pocket. He didn't particularly care about being seen. He had a plan for himself, but he needed to stick to the plan they made the night before. Wilson didn't know about the second plan… didn't know House's plans for the after. He sighed as he continued waiting and thought about Cuddy. He briefly reconsidered his plan during the poker game. The connection, banter, and closeness made him question his decision. He couldn't go there though. He'd done unthinkable—unforgivable—things to her. Gregory House was dead, and Cuddy was better off without him. He couldn't allow himself to think anything different.

Shaking the thoughts from his thought, House watched Wilson exit the office and walk to a room at the end of the building. _Good_ , he thought, _as far from the office as we can get._ He opened the car door and gripped his thigh, swinging his leg to the ground. _Here we go_ , he thought as he limped to the motel room door.

House and Wilson passed the time before Cuddy's arrival talking and reminiscing. The room was filled with bittersweet laughter as the two friends remembered their best and worst times.

"So… you and Cuddy… you seemed to be getting along last night during the poker game."

"You meddling old yenta. Don't. She's better off without me."

"I know I always said if you couldn't make it work with her, but I think the reverse is true too. If she can't make it work with you…"

"I couldn't. She couldn't. We couldn't."

"No, you could have. But when you were together, it wasn't _you_ together. It wasn't _House_ and _Cuddy_ but some weird… you weren't yourselves with each other. You could have worked if you were yourselves."

A knock on the door cut the conversation short, and House thanked a god he didn't believe in for the reprieve as he hollered, "It's unlocked!"

Cuddy stepped in wearing a pair of tight jeans and a tight black v-neck t-shirt. She wore no makeup, prepared for the tears that would surely come. Her hair was pulled back into a loose, curly ponytail, and House felt his breath catch the sight of her. As much as he'd always admired her in her power suits, he always thought she was at her sexiest when dressed casually. She closed the door behind her, looking unsure of what she should do next.

Holding up a large manilla envelope, she said, "I brought some old pictures. I thought it might be nice to look through them all together before…" Her voice trailed off as a tear ran down her face.

Wilson smiled as brightly as he had in weeks. "I would like that."

The trio laughed for hours, sharing memories and stories of the lives behind them. Each picture in the envelope seemed to trigger a new memory and a new story. For a short period of time, they all seemed to forget why they were together in a small, rundown motel.

Once they were left with an empty envelope, Wilson leaned his head back into his pillow and drew a strained breath. With a tear in his eye but certainty in his voice, he declared, "It's time guys."

House and Cuddy shared a quick glance between them before turning their attention to Wilson. It really was time. He was struggling with most breaths, a raspy sound escaping his chest. Cuddy bowed her head and House stood to prepare what they needed.

Silence filled the room as House prepared everything. He rubbed his thigh with his right hand and paused his preparation, rolling the bottle in his pocket in his palm in his left. Finally, he turned, satisfied everything was in order, and limped back to the bed.

Wilson laid in the middle of the bed with Cuddy perched on the edge beside him. They both watched House, lost in their own thoughts. She gripped his hand, squeezing occasionally as much for her own comfort as for his.

House sat on the other side of Wilson and handed him a tourniquet to tie around his arm. Then, he handed Wilson the syringe and bottle of morphine, instructing him to touch them. Satisfied that Wilson's fingerprints would be found on the items, House took a deep breath and asked, "You ready, Jimmy boy?"

Wilson nodded, the knot in his throat too hard to speak through. This was it. This was the end. And both of his best friends were by his side. A tear slipped down his cheek as he said, "Yeah, I'm ready." Then, looking between House and Cuddy, he whispered, "Take care of each other."

Cuddy held back a sob, trying to stay strong for both men. "We will. I promise. I love you."

Wilson locked eyes with her, silently thanking her for the promise. "I love you too, Cuddy. Give Rachel a hug for me." Cuddy couldn't speak, overwhelmed with emotion, and squeezed his hand in answer.

House inserted the needle into the crook of Wilson's elbow and pushed the plunger of the syringe. "I love you Wilson. Be not afraid."

"You- you said it. You act... actually said it. I love you, House. B-Be not afraid."

House snapped his gloves off and took Wilson's hand. Cuddy's eyes moved between the two men as she continued holding Wilson's other hand. And as Wilson's respiration faded, Cuddy reached across his torso and grabbed House's free hand, intertwining her fingers with his. There they sat until Wilson drew his last breath, all three connected to the very end.

**tbc**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N- Sorry if that was extra angsty. This is sort of the jumping point for the rest of the story, but we couldn't lose Wilson without some angst. Thanks for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

* * *

_Moving on doesn't mean you forget about things.  
It just means you have to accept what's happened and continue living.  
  
_ _-Ezra Scarlet_

* * *

Time seemed to stand still for a moment with the three friends on the bed, hands clasped together. House looked at Wilson, knowing he was gone but not yet ready to confirm it. He felt a gentle squeeze of his hand and looked up to see Cuddy watching him with a knowing gaze. Looking down at their intertwined fingers, he felt a small chuckle escape with a sigh and turned back to look at Wilson.

"Wilson, you manipulative bitch," House whispered as he pulled his hand back from Cuddy. He told himself he couldn't go there. He couldn't let them go there. He couldn't hurt her again. He grabbed the stethoscope beside him and confirmed what he already knew—Wilson was gone. Pulling the stethoscope from his ears, he gave an almost imperceptible nod to let Cuddy know.

She brushed a tear from her cheek and sighed, "So, now what?"

With those words, they both flashed back to another room and another bed where those same words were spoken. The morning after she confessed her love for him and they first made love, he asked her the same question. Three years before that question marked a beginning. Today, it marked an end.

The bittersweet memory took hold of House as he could only parrot her words from that morning, "Everything's good. We don't have to talk through it all."

Cuddy sighed at the reply. She did want to talk through it, but she also needed to clarify the next steps. They spent so long planning the night before, but none of them dared to mention this part in their plans. She didn't know what the next steps were. Continuing the replay of a conversation from years before, she said, "No, I mean it literally. Now what?" and stared down at her hand still holding Wilson's.

Shaking his head to clear the memory evoked by the conversation, House pushed himself from the bed and limped to Wilson's bag. He unzipped the top and pulled an envelope out, noticing the chocolate bar and two envelopes under it. Seeing his name and Cuddy's on the envelopes, he pulled them from the bag too and limped back to the bed. Painfully lowering himself back to a seated position, he laid the first envelope beside Wilson.

"A little insurance," House explained. "It's cliché, but Wilson thought a suicide note would make them less likely to investigate."

Cuddy nodded, finally understanding the few seconds House had Wilson touch the morphine and the syringe. They needed to make sure Wilson's fingerprints would be found on them to make the suicide believable. She glanced down at the envelopes House still held and shot him a questioning look.

"Apparently Wilson left a surprise for us too." Tossing her the chocolate he held under the envelopes, House added, "And he said he owed you a chocolate bar."

Catching the chocolate bar in mid-air, Cuddy let out a small laugh. She had forgotten Wilson's text promising that he saved one for her. As much as she wanted to rip the wrapper open and indulge in the sweet escape, she knew she never would. That bar would likely grow old and stale on her shelf, a reminder of the sweet friend she lost. She placed it on her lap and reached for the envelope House was now holding out to her. Another tear threatened to spill over as she gently traced her name written in Wilson's feminine handwriting on the front. She couldn't bring herself to open it yet and read his last words to her. House didn't seem too inclined to read his yet either as he set his aside and stared at her.

"I'm surprised you didn't eat it yourself."

"We did a chocolate tour together. I ate most of Wilson's that day too… I don't want to see chocolate again for a while. And he wouldn't let me. Threatened to stab me with a fork."

Cuddy smiled at the thought before turning her attention back to the present moment. "Really," she asked, "now what?"

House tilted his head back and stared at the ceiling for a moment. "What have you touched in here?"

Taken aback by the question, Cuddy blinked and watched as he brought his gaze back down to her and repeated the question.

"I—I don't know. Nothing really. I've been sitting here since I came in."

That answer seemed to satisfy him as House nodded and handed her the manilla envelope of pictures she brought with her. "Good. That means your fingerprints aren't on anything. Now you go back to Baltimore and wait for the call that Wilson's gone. You grieve. You go to the funeral. You pretend you were never here."

Cuddy felt a sharp pain in her chest. She wasn't ready to go back to Baltimore and pretend this never happened. She wasn't ready to be alone with her grief. Rachel was still with her sister, Julia. She already scheduled time off work. There was nothing to distract her from the painful grief that was setting in. House stood and limped to the wall next to the door, leaning against it and waiting to push her back to her normal life.

"What about you? What have you touched in here? What about your fingerprints, House? And what are you going to do now? Where will you go?"

House leaned into the wall even more and dropped his cane as he lowered his head, refusing to meet her eye. "I'm dead, Cuddy, so don't worry about that. There's nothing left for me to lose if they find my fingerprints here. For you, on the other hand… Get out of here and get back to your life. I'm sure someone will call you about the funeral soon."

She watched as he stuffed a hand into his pocket and grasped something in it. The pieces started coming together in her head. Their car was in Wilson's name and would need to be left there to make his suicide believable. House didn't seem to care about anything that could connect him to Wilson's death. Every conversation with him was punctuated with a reminder that he was "dead" and had "nothing left to lose." She didn't hear the rattle of pills in his pocket, but he was clutching something in it as if it was his Vicodin. She kept staring at his empty eyes as everything became clear to her.

Choking back a sob, she dropped her head and said softly, "You're going to kill yourself. That's why you don't care. That's why you're not worried."

A tear ran down her cheek as she looked up and met House's mournful gaze. Cuddy watched as he pulled the second bottle of morphine from his pocket, confirming her suspicions.

"Gregory House is already dead, Cuddy. He died five months ago. I just got a few extra months with Wilson."

"No. No, House. You're—"

"Stop. I'm not going to anything. I have nothing left. I have nothing left to lose. It's all gone, Cuddy. Everything."

"Aren't you the one who once told me that 'Living in misery sucks marginally less than dying in it'? What about that?" Tears were rolling down Cuddy's cheeks in rapid succession now. She couldn't believe that House was willing to give up so easily. He was the one who fought her with everything he had anytime he believed he was right. He was the one who refused to accept Kutner's suicide for days.

"That was when I still had something to live for." House's voice was low and quiet. "I'm already dead. I can't practice medicine. Ever again. All of my things are gone. I don't have any money. My best friend is gone." House paused, feeling emotion threatening to overwhelm him as he whispered his next words, "You're gone." With a deep breath, he collected himself to finish, "I have nothing left, Cuddy. Everything's gone."

Cuddy brought her hands to her face as she listened to House and dug the heels of her palms into her eyes. She slowly drug them down her cheeks, trying to think. The rational side of her knew she should leave and not care what happened to him. This was the man who destroyed her home, and in effect, her life. It should be easy to walk away without a second thought. The emotional side couldn't do that. She stole a glance at Wilson's body lying on the bed and knew she wouldn't be able to walk away and let House kill himself too. Wilson's death was unavoidable. Cancer was going to take him soon, even without their assistance. House was still alive. He was still healthy. She couldn't just walk away knowing there would be two bodies in this room when she did. She closed her eyes, carefully considering her next words and their next steps. She stood and started pacing the small space in front of the bed.

"You can come back. You don't _have_ to be dead! We could—"

House pushed off the wall and limped over to her so only inches separated their bodies. "There is no we. Stop. We can't anything. You need to go home."

She was infuriated. House wasn't listening to her. Cuddy drew a deep breath and pulled her shoulders back, standing as straight as she could. House towered over her, but she was determined to claim every bit of space she could.

"I can—"

"You can what, Cuddy? Aid a fugitive? Ruin your life for the man who already ruined it once? Go to prison after we already tried so hard to keep you safe? No. You remember that giant, gaping chasm between the world as it is and the world as you see it could be? This one is as wide as the Atlantic! Go home."

Cuddy's shoulders slumped forward. House was right. They'd gone through so much over the last 24 hours to protect her from losing everything for helping Wilson die. Helping House now would only put her at risk again. Her head was spinning. She couldn't just leave him. Wilson wouldn't want that for him. Wilson asked them to take care of each other. She needed to think, but nothing seemed clear in that moment. She bit her lip and turned her bracelet over on her wrist, trying to focus on something. She needed time, and if she walked out the door, she would never get another chance.

"I just don't want to be alone tonight. I just lost Wilson," she said with a glance to the bed, "and I need someone tonight. Just tonight. Please?"

A sexual comment would have normally come at that moment, but House couldn't bring himself to say it. It was rare that Cuddy let herself seem so vulnerable, and he was speechless. He rolled the bottle of morphine in his palm, unsure of what to say. This was not part of his plan. From the beginning, he knew that he would die with Wilson. He didn't want to live as a dead man anymore, but he couldn't walk away from the woman before him when she said she needed him. He should. He knew he should. He was a constant disappointment in her life. Going with her would put her at risk. Wilson asked that they take care of each other. Putting her at risk wasn't part of that, but neither was abandoning her when she was telling him that she needed him.

House groaned, "You're risking everything just being with me."

Cuddy smirked seeing his resolve was breaking down. "Not the first time I've put myself at risk saving your ass."

He knew she meant legal risk, referring to the time she forged pharmacy records and lied on the stand to keep him out of jail. The truth was, that simple sentence summarized their entire relationship. Personally, professionally, and legally, she constantly put herself at risk to save him. _Because she loves you_ , he heard Wilson's voice in his head. _A woman only goes through that much for someone she loves. And she needs you now. You let her down before. Don't do it now._ The voice sounded so real, House looked around to make sure he wasn't hallucinating again. Satisfied that he wasn't, House looked back at Cuddy and met her gaze.

"I haven't touched much, and I doubt they'll look too closely. This place has probably seen more than a few suicides."

Cuddy sighed with relief. She knew he was giving in. It was rare House gave in—if anything, he would typically try to manipulate her into believing he won and go along with her anyway. His posture looked resigned. He didn't seem happy about it, but he was giving in.

"Good. Get your stuff. Let's go."

House picked up his cane and limped across the room to grab a small duffel bag from the floor. He left Wilson's untouched. Slinging the bag over his shoulder, he said, "I'll go with you tonight, but that's it. You can't risk being seen with me."

Cuddy ignored him, knowing she would figure out a plan in time. She couldn't think clearly enough right now, but she wouldn't let him walk off tomorrow to kill himself. Biting her lip, she tilted her head in the direction of the bed and Wilson's body, "What do we do about Wilson?"

"We leave and let housekeeping find him."

The thought horrified Cuddy, but she understood. They couldn't call his death in without arousing any suspicion so she just said, "Make sure the A/C is turned down low."

House pulled the gloves from his pocket and snapped them back on, turning to the unit by the floor. He adjusted the temperature on the control panel to 65 and stepped away from it. Pausing for a moment, he leaned over and reached into Wilson's bag. He took out Wilson's wallet and removed most of the cash, leaving a couple bills behind. He didn't want anyone looking into this as a possible robbery. Then he put the wallet back into the bag and grabbed the two envelopes from the bed.

Satisfied, Cuddy took the envelope addressed to her from House and turned back to the door. She slid it into her envelope of pictures and tucked them under her arm. Then she slipped her hand under her shirt and grabbed the handle with the cloth, "Let's get out of here. We'll figure out a plan on the way to Baltimore."

House nodded and followed her out. He palmed the bottle of morphine that he'd slipped back into his pocket. He didn't know what sort of plan they would come up with. He doubted she would want him around for too long. She just couldn't live with the guilt if she walked away today and he killed himself. So for tonight, House would go with Cuddy to assuage her guilt. He could escort her back to Baltimore, make sure she was settled back into her life, and spend one last evening with her. Then he could carry out his own plan.

House and Cuddy took one last glance back at Wilson as they left, shutting the door behind them.

**tbc**


	5. Chapter 5

* * *

_I watched you give a feeble smile  
as you took the pieces of your broken heart  
and used them to build a wall around yourself_

-David Brink Staunton

* * *

The silence in the car was deafening. They'd been on the road for a half an hour without a word spoken between them. Their history was long—former classmates, former boss and employee, former friends, former lovers—but there was no term for their current situation, and discomfort was setting in. With Wilson as a buffer and his death to focus on, they settled into relatively comfortable interactions in the last 24 hours, but now awkwardness was emerging. Cuddy looked at House out of the corner of her eye. He was facing away from her, staring out the passenger side window. His fist dug into his right thigh and he tried to swallow a low groan. She opened her mouth to say something, to somehow acknowledge his pain, to ask where his pills were, but quickly stopped herself and snapped it shut. Any attempt would not be well received right now. He was busy arming his defenses and rebuilding his walls. Anything remotely resembling pity would be struck down hard and mercilessly. A defensive House could unleash the most caustic verbal blows.

She flexed her fingers on the steering wheel and let out a puff of air before reaching over to turn on the radio. A few notes came through the speakers before they were abruptly cut off as House roughly pushed the power button to turn it back off. Cuddy slightly turned her head to shoot him a questioning look.

He grunted and mumbled, "Just not in the mood to hear your bad renditions of 80s pop."

Drawing her lips into a thin line, Cuddy kept looking straight out the windshield and wondered what she was doing. She was in a car with House, driving back to Baltimore. After everything he did to her and everything she went through to rebuild her life, he was in her car on the way to the city she called home. She couldn't even claim that he manipulated her into this. No, he wanted her to walk away. _She_ manipulated _him_ into coming with her. She had no plan, no idea what they would do once they got there.

As if he was reading her thoughts, House broke the silence. "So what's the big plan? You just going to drive straight to the police station and walk me in so they can add 'Violation of a Protective Order' to my charges?"

Annoyance washed over Cuddy, and she rolled her eyes. She knew he was lashing out and trying to push her away. They'd shared some vulnerable moments, but he was throwing out an arm to keep her away emotionally. Old habits died hard though, and she replied with sarcasm heavy in her tone. "Yeah, that's exactly it, House. I asked you to come with me so I could keep you from _killing yourself_ just to turn you over to the police at the first opportunity."

"Wouldn't surprise me. You'd probably claim it was some opportunity to teach me about taking responsibility for my actions."

She rubbed her forehead between her index finger and her thumb. He wasn't wrong in the accusation—she'd done awful things to him in the past in misguided attempts to "teach House a lesson." Manipulated him into detoxing. Lied to him about curing a patient. Gave him near silent-treatment when they dated. She pushed the guilt down and turned to him with narrowed eyes.

"Don't be ridiculous. I don't know the plan yet, but it doesn't involve the police station. Plus…" she paused before lowering her voice, "there is no protective order."

House whipped his head over to look at her, his expression surprised and questioning. "Of course there is. There has been since…" He trailed off. He still couldn't say the words. Couldn't say out loud what he'd done to her.

Cuddy drew her lips again and offered a small shrug. "I never renewed it. It expired after a year and I just never… there is no protective order."

"Oh." House didn't know how to reply to that revelation. However, he had another puzzle to figure out. "So why _did_ you ask me to come with you? Trying to play out some Bonnie and Clyde fantasy?"

With a small chuckle and a smirk, she replied, "Bonnie and Clyde were killed. Let's not."

"Oh think about it… life on the run. It could be exciting."

The familiar banter eased some of the tension in the car. They were back in comfortable territory, verbal volleys going back and forth. "You can't run," Cuddy laughed.

"Cold, Cuddy, cold." His face fell and tone dropped as he became serious again. "But you still haven't answered my question. Why?"

She couldn't answer that. She didn't even understand her own motivations yet. Being with him unlocked something inside of her she didn't know existed anymore. His "death" five months ago devastated her. She walked around like a zombie for weeks after. After "the incident in Princeton," as she typically called it, she was angry. Everyone around her expected her to fall apart, but her anger carried her through the move and rebuilding her life. She thought she skipped the denial, bargaining, and depression stages of grief over it and transitioned from anger to acceptance. She only learned she'd been fooling herself all along when Wilson told her House was dead. After seeing him, she didn't want to go through that again. The smell of _him_ , the feel of his hand in hers—it all intoxicated her. She couldn't walk away knowing that if she did, the next time she heard he was dead would be for real. It confused her. Anger toward him was her constant companion for two years, but now… now there was more, and she didn't know how to explain it.

Taking a page from his playbook, she deflected. "Why did you do it, House?"

Panic washed over his face as he registered her question. "I asked first." He sighed, "I've done a lot of 'its,' Cuddy. You'll have to be more specific."

She cocked an eyebrow at him, "Quid pro quo?"

"You'll show me yours if I show you mine?"

Cuddy chuckled at the double entendre that was just so _House_. It felt like old times, including her conflicted emotions about him. "Why did you fake your death?"

His relief was evident as he let out a long breath. The 'it' she referenced wasn't _**it**_ _,_ the elephant in the room. She wasn't asking about Princeton. He leaned forward on the seat and rested his head in his hands as he told her the whole story… or most of it. He wasn't ready to share the details of his time in the warehouse. Not yet. He stole a glance or two throughout, trying to read her expressions and brace himself for her reaction.

"What sort of incompetent lawyers did Foreman have working there?" Her question surprised him, but he kept quiet waiting for her to continue. "There's absolutely _no_ way they got your fingerprints off of _wet_ tickets from the sewer lines. Idiots. And even if they could, they were your tickets. Of _course_ your fingerprints would be on them. That doesn't prove anything. It was easier to let you take the fall than it was to do their damn jobs."

Her ire toward the situation surprised him. He admitted to her that he'd flushed the tickets. It was his fault. She could see his confused expression and explained, "House, I spent more than a decade defending you in that hospital. I used to joke that I should go to law school to make sure I could help keep you out of trouble."

"Well, wouldn't that have just made you the perfect little Jew—a medical degree and a law degree."

"Still wouldn't have been good enough for my mother," she muttered under her breath. "It didn't matter what you _did_. It mattered what they could _prove_. Any lawyer worth the paper his degree was printed on would have had that thrown out in seconds. You were too valuable to the hospital and to the medical community to let you go down for something so stupid. You were too valuable to Wilson these last few months."

Her last sentence hung in the air as tears filled his eyes. He blinked them back, trying to contain his emotions. After everything he did to her, she still saw value in him. He quickly shook his head to clear the thoughts. He couldn't go there with her—couldn't set himself for that heartbreak again. Couldn't set himself up to hurt her again. With the direction the conversation was taking, House was afraid to ask his question again. It took all his effort to shoot her a lecherous grin and say, "Okay, I showed you mine. Now show me yours. What are we doing here? What's the plan?"

Cuddy bit her lip and slid her hand across the top of the steering wheel. She knew they would come back to that question and still didn't know what to say. "We're… taking care of each other like Wilson asked us to."

House nodded, accepting her answer. He knew there was more, but he was afraid to push. He wasn't sure he was ready for more.

"And I still don't know what the plan is."

"The great administrator Lisa Cuddy doesn't have a plan?!" he gasped in mock surprise.

"Shut up, House. It's not every day I have to deal with a legally dead fugitive. I don't exactly have experience to fall back on here." She flicked her eyes down to the bulge in his pocket, the outline of the bottle of morphine visible. Her voice dropped to a whisper again, "Why do you want to kill yourself?"

He followed her eyes to his pocket and rolled his palm over the slight bulge as he noted the tense of her question. Cuddy said _do_ , not _did_. She knew he hadn't abandoned his plan, just delayed it. "I already showed you mine. I thought quid pro quo was over." He looked over to see her narrowed gaze again. "I told you back at the hotel. I have nothing left, Cuddy. I died in May. This was just for Wilson."

The urge to pull over and take his face in her hands was strong, but they were on the highway so she couldn't. Cuddy blinked back the tears that threatened to fall as he confirmed that he still planned to take his own life. She parodied his earlier statement, "The great Greg House is just going to give up? Just like that? You _never_ give up without a fight." The word stung as she said them, remembering the one time he did give up without a fight. Remembering when he refused to fight for her after their breakup. Instead, he chose the most self-destructive path he could... much like he was doing now. She pushed the thoughts aside for now.

"Sometimes the fight isn't worth it."

"Not to you. The fight is part of your game. It's part of the fun for you."

"There is no fun anymore. Fighting with _you_ was fun. Fighting with nothing to gain isn't."

"House," she hissed, "there's a lot to gain. Your _life_. Everything."

"It's no fun fighting when you don't have a chance of winning."

She felt annoyed by the conversation. House _rarely ever_ gave up, and he was waving a white flag before he even tried. "You never fought at all. You just came back to the country and took the first deal offered. You never even got a lawyer! And you didn't even _try_ to fight the parole violation. You just gave up!"

House leaned his head back and looked up to the roof of the car. He knew this admission would hurt, but she needed to hear it. "There wasn't anything to fight for then either, Cuddy. And you didn't deserve having to go through a trial for what I did, okay? Fighting wouldn't have been fair to you! And there was no one in my corner for the parole violation. I couldn't win." He dropped his head into his open palms before the dull ache in his thigh demanded attention. The pain was increasing as every muscle in his body stiffened into tight knots from the tension of this conversation. He gritted his teeth and dug his fist into the missing muscle, trying to ease the cramp.

Watching his actions, Cuddy felt her shoulders tense. House's pain was always one of her worst sources of guilt. She didn't regret her actions. If she never recommended the debridement, he wouldn't have survived his infarction. She knew the medicine and was confident in that, but it didn't ease the pain of seeing the chronic pain she helped inflict on him.

Knowing she risked him lashing out at pity, she took a breath before asking, "Where are your pills?"

"There's some ibuprofen in my bag. It'll be fine."

Visions of the last 24 hours flashed in front of her, and Cuddy realized she hadn't seen House take Vicodin at all in that time. She watched him give Wilson painkillers during their poker game, but he never took any himself. It was certainly possible that he took some when she wasn't in the room, but House was never shy about flaunting his drug use in front of her. The familiar rattle in his pocket was missing. For the second time that day, the pieces of a puzzle slid into place in her mind.

"You're off Vicodin again."

He didn't say anything, but his pointed look answered her question.

"Why?"

It was a loaded question. Answering would require letting down part of the defenses he spent the early part of this drive trying to build back up. It would mean admitting some of his biggest regrets with her. He looked away from her and stared out the window as he answered, "Wilson was going to need painkillers, and we couldn't exactly pop into doctor's offices along the way requesting narcotics. They would have referred him back to his attending, who didn't exist. I had a stash, but it wouldn't have last long with both of us taking them. So I detoxed." House paused, gathering the will to reveal this last part. "And I wanted to be there for him… really _there_ for him." He closed his eyes as he prepared to admit the part that he never shared with Wilson, "And I didn't think it would be good to be hallucinating Wilson's dead girlfriend when we were on his bucket list road trip." A tear escaped his eye as he struggled through the admission. He felt like he was back in her office before he went to Mayfield, finally telling her that he was not okay. That he was losing the thing he valued most, his rational mind.

Cuddy felt her chest tighten at his admission. He wanted to be _there_ for Wilson... there for him as he hadn't been for her. And hallucinations? House was still looking away from her as she turned her head and reached her hand up to his cheek, just like she did in her office that evening. "You—you were hallucinating again?"

He reached up to grasp the hand on his cheek, savoring the contact for a moment. Then he pulled it from his face and let go. "Yeah, in the warehouse that night." Cuddy choked back tears as he filled in the details he left out earlier. Part of her felt hurt and jealous that his subconscious conjured images of both Stacy and Cameron but not her, but she tried to push that aside. His defense mechanisms wouldn't have allowed her in his hallucinations this time. She knew that—she knew there was too much hurt between them for his mind to conjure her in that moment. Wilson had already told her that House refused to even speak her name after he returned so she understood, but it still hurt.

She reached over to grab his hand as she weighed her next comment. "I'm proud of you. You did the right thing. You did good by him." She gave a light squeeze with her last sentence and pulled her hand back to the steering wheel, knowing he was too vulnerable to accept prolonged contact.

The conversation hit House's emotional limit with that. He drummed his fingers on the window beside him as her words ran through his head. A large green sign on the side of the highway told him they were getting close to Baltimore, and he still didn't know what they were going to do. He ran a hand over his stubbled cheek and turned back to face Cuddy. "We're almost there. We need a plan."

Just as they had the night before, they started trying to work out a plan. When she suggested a local hotel and spa she would sometimes visit to try to get away, he reminded her of cameras just like he did in Hershey.

"You can't be seen with me. Not on camera."

"Come on, House. You're not Public Enemy Number 1. There's no one looking for you to pop up on a camera somewhere."

"But if I do, you can't be seen with me. Orange is _not_ the new black, and jumpsuits aren't your style."

Cuddy sighed and pulled off on the next highway exit as House shot her a questioning glance. They didn't have a plan so he didn't understand why she was pulling off now.

"There's a little dive bar up the road here. No cameras. I just need a drink then we can figure everything out."

The sky was changing colors as dusk settled in. It was hard to believe they started this day at one hotel and said goodbye to Wilson in another roadside motel. She pulled into the parking lot of a small bar and put the car in park. Turning to him, she said, "Come on. We'll average our misery for a bit then plan."

With that, she turned away, opened her door, and slid out of the car. House opened his and gripped his thigh, maneuvering it at he turned his body to stand as well. She waited for him to limp to her side and took his hand as they made their way to the door.

**tbc**


	6. Chapter 6

* * *

_"Pain changes people.  
It makes them trust less  
overthink more,  
and shut people out."_

-Unknown

* * *

The bar was nothing special, but far from the run-down, depressing hole in the wall he expected from the outside. It was neither the upscale sort of place where Cuddy would rub elbows with donors over Happy Hour, nor was it the dark, dingy place House frequented to drown his sorrows. The lighting was dim yet not depressing—just lacking in natural lighting with dull lights interspersed throughout. It didn't smell of stale smoke and bad decisions, but there wasn't an artificial scent of opulence piped through it either. It was just average. An average place where you'd be as likely to find a young professional unwinding after work as you would be to meet the local drunk drowning his miseries.

House flopped into a booth in the far corner as he watched Cuddy signal the bartender to order their drinks. The crowd was sparse, most of them perched on stools around the long bar against the wall. The corner House chose was deserted—he wasn't in the mood to listen in on drunk conversations or have anyone listening in on them. He watched her make her way back to the booth with drinks in hand. Cuddy didn't just walk. No, she managed to glide across a room with a seductive sway to her hips. He eyed the cane tucked beside him, remembering when he could move so effortlessly. When he glanced back over, Cuddy was sliding into the booth and pushing a double scotch, neat, his way.

Locking eyes with House from across the table, Cuddy stirred her vodka tonic and lime and turned her lips up into a small, sad smile. The day's events were wearing at her, and she could feel the physical and emotional exhaustion starting to tug on her. She couldn't imagine how House was feeling. She loved Wilson—he'd always been a good friend to her. But he was House's _best_ friend. House gave up his life for him. She lifted her drink from the table and took a small sip from the cocktail straws, trying to read his face. His stare was blank as he slid his drink from hand to hand on the tabletop. A deep rumble came from her stomach as it clenched in on itself. She brought a hand to her abdomen, trying to remember when she last ate. Trying to guess when House last had a significant meal.

"The food here… it's pretty good. I think they make reubens. You hungry?"

He slowly blinked as her question registered. The bags under his eyes seemed darker, the lines on his face deeper than they had in the car. He took a long swallow from his glass before he answered, "Dry. No—"

"No pickles." As if she could forget. Every detail about him was permanently etched in her memory. He'd lost some weight, his clothes hanging a big baggier on his lanky frame. His hair was thinner and lighter, his scruff a bit more gray. So much was still the same though. His piercing blue eyes still bore into her. His calloused hand still wrapped perfectly around hers. His deep, gravelly voice still gave her goosebumps. Cuddy shook her head to clear the thought. She would help take care of him for now: she promised Wilson that much. She couldn't go down that road though. Not again. She let out a small sigh and her shoulders slumped as she walked to the bar and placed their orders.

A man sitting at the bar looked her up and down as she ordered. Cuddy was used to men looking. She took pride in her appearance, pride in keeping her body in shape. She knew she looked good, especially for her age. She offered a polite, disinterested smile and turned away, grabbing the glass of scotch as soon as the bartender sat it down.

She slid the drink over to House as she sat back down. He raised his eyebrows at her and smirked, "Oh Cuddy, you should know by now you don't need to get me drunk to take advantage of me."

In spite of herself, Cuddy laughed as she shot him a warning gaze. "Not happening, House." She was surprised to see a look of relief was across his face at her rejection. She expected some sort of witty retort. Snark. Flirtation. Lechery. Not relief. Relief confused her.

House closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall as he spoke low, almost inaudibly, "This isn't a hallucination." His eyes were wet and red as he looked back at her, the fear he'd been feeling bubbling forward. "In my hallucinations, you do stripteases or we… you don't say things like that. This is real."

"House, how long have you been worrying about that?" She reached across the table and laid her hand on his forearm. She didn't clutch or hold, just laid it there, hoping the touch would ground them both.

"I started thinking about it in the car, but when we got here, you held my hand. You were saving me again. Just like… before Mayfield. It didn't make sense. You being with me doesn't make sense. I figured I used the morphine and hallucinated all of this."

Cuddy tried to follow his logic, but she knew she never could. The trauma of his breakdown would always be with him. He would always question whether he was living in reality or in the delusions of a sick mind. "I held your hand in Hershey. And you know you didn't use it. It's in your pocket right now."

"That… was different. It was all of us. It made sense in that moment. You holding my hand by yourself didn't." He lowered his voice even more. "And it doesn't matter if it's in my pocket. I _knew_ I had your lipstick in my pocket all day, but I never did. Sometimes reality lies."

Moisture gathered in her eyes, but Cuddy refused to let a tear fall. She already cried too much today. More than she ever did. She sucked in her bottom lip, considering her next words before she saw the bartender approaching with their food. With a light squeeze of his arm, she whispered, "I'm here, House. This is all real. We'll get through it" and turned her head toward their approaching food.

The bartender was pleasant enough—another nondescript person in a nondescript bar, but her presence at the table was uncomfortable as House and Cuddy recovered from their conversation. He picked up his glass and tossed back his second double scotch while Cuddy smiled at the girl and sipped her vodka tonic. "He'll have another please."

They waited until she stepped away from the table before either spoke again. "Drink this one a little slower please. I can't carry you."

"How did you know about this place? Doesn't seem like your normal hangout." He wasn't going to acknowledge his drinking. He wasn't going to return to their previous conversation. His puzzle was solved, and he was moving onto the next one—her. Her life now.

Cuddy pushed her food around the large salad bowl. She speared the same tomato three times, never lifting it to her mouth. She knew she needed to eat, the hunger pains sending firm reminders of her empty stomach. Her appetite just didn't match the physical signs. "Girls' night out with some moms from Rachel's dance class. They play good music here sometimes."

It was a lie. There was no girls' night out. It was a date with the father of one of the girls from Rachel's dance class. He was widowed a few years before and looked, on paper, like a great prospect. CFO of a local company. A daughter Rachel's age. Attractive in that conventional, businessman way. Strong. Stable. And utterly boring. On their third date, she told him she enjoyed his company but needed to focus on work and Rachel and didn't have time to pursue a relationship. He tried for weeks to win her over before he finally gave up and moved on with the next dance mom. Julia still criticized her for letting him go.

House smirked. "You still have a tell." Cuddy chewed on her bottom lip, concerned. Of course he would know. He always knew. "It's okay, Cuddy. Obviously you date. What's Mr. Wonderful going to think of you being with me?"

"Mr. Wonderful didn't last long enough for it to be his concern."

"Oh." He resisted the urge to pry. Everything in his nature told him to pry. But this was an awkward, precarious situation. She prepared herself for his questions, knowing he wouldn't let it rest. Instead, he surprised her, "How's Mowgl—" He cut himself off. The nickname he gave Rachel when Cuddy adopted her didn't seem appropriate anymore. Back then, he resented the infant who was taking Cuddy away from him. The embodiment of his missed opportunity with her. Now, he missed the girl. He never expected to love her. Never thought he would bond with her. Yet, losing her hurt just as much as losing her mother did. "How's Rachel?"

His eyes softened when he asked, and Cuddy smiled at that. The bond between Rachel and House surprised her. The first time Rachel climbed on his lap, Cuddy almost cried in happiness. She never expected the two most important people in her life to bond, but somehow they did. Rachel cried for House for weeks after their breakup, asking when her friend would come back to play with her. The tears stopped after a while, but her questions about him continued long after their move to Baltimore. She wanted to know when "Howse" was going to come see her new room. With a bright smile, Cuddy recounted all the details she shared with Wilson the night before.

House listened attentively, trying to picture the little girl now. She was an adorable (he begrudgingly admitted) toddler, and he wondered what sort of kid she'd grown to be. "Could I see a picture?"

It shouldn't have made her nervous, but sharing Rachel was sharing the most important part of her life. Yes, she was here with House now, but part of her still screamed to keep distance. She was in too far now though, and the sad, anxious look on his face as he asked broke her resolve. She picked up her phone and pulled up the pictures before she handed it to him. He didn't ask permission before scrolling through gallery, but she didn't expect him to. As he scrolled, she realized his plate was empty while a large salad still sat in front of her.

Handing her back the phone, he pointed to her plate. "An ass like that doesn't come from starvation, Cuddy. You gonna eat sometime today?"

Cuddy wanted to ask what he thought, but his expression said it all. He looked somewhat bewildered and proud as she took back her phone. He loved Rachel. He never admitted it, but that much was obvious. She sipped her watered down drink. It was bittersweet, House and Rachel's affection for each other. It warmed her heart that they had connected so much, but it added another layer of heartbreak to their breakup. There was enough of that to go around, and it pained her that her daughter got caught up in it as well. They sat in silence again, both lost in their thoughts about Rachel and their complicated relationship. Pushing her empty salad bowl aside, Cuddy leaned her head back and closed her eyes. The exhaustion that crept in earlier was threatening to overwhelm her now.

She briefly glanced around to make sure they were still alone in the corner before she leaned forward and asked quietly, "When do you think they'll find him?" She was starting to think through their options, but that detail was most important. He leaned forward as well. They were in each other's personal space. To a casual observer, it would look like a private conversation between lovers. Former lovers—close enough.

"Tomorrow morning I imagine. Housekeeping should after checkout."

The statement hung in the air. The gruesome reality that Wilson was gone and his body was alone in a roadside motel in Hershey strangling them both.

Her drink was mostly water at this point, but she finished it off and nodded toward House's scotch. "Going to finish that?"

House drained his glass and studied her. The focus in her eyes. The set of her jaw. The squared off shoulders. He didn't know when it happened, but she'd put on her administrator mask. Her mind was working through something, and she was making a decision. He followed her as she wordlessly stood and walked to the bar to pay their tab. Cuddy signed the credit card slip and turned to him. "Come on. Let's go home." With that, she walked briskly to the door, leaving him limping to catch up with her.

She was hugging herself against the crisp October air when he finally caught her in the parking lot.

"Home?!" He hollered out to her.

With a pointed look, she turned to him. "Get in" and climbed in the car, slamming the door shut before he could respond.

He didn't know that she was already questioning her own sanity. She was inviting House into her home. No, she wasn't inviting. She was taking him there. House, the man who destroyed her home in Princeton. This wasn't her plan when they left Hershey. She didn't have one then, but she knew this wasn't it. However, she'd made her decision. She weighed it out—did a mental cost/benefit analysis. This was the best option for now, as insane as it seemed.

"Are you _really_ this stupid or—"

"House!" She cut him off with a tone that left no room for further argument. "Stop. I've made up my mind. This is the best way to do it. You're so concerned with protecting me? This is it. I'll be seen at home, and we'll pull into the garage so you'll never be seen. No cameras to worry about. They'll find Wilson tomorrow morning, and all signs would show I was in Baltimore all day. I'm exhausted and want to go to bed. My bed. This is the best option for tonight. Decision's final." She held out her hand, "And give me the damn morphine. You're not killing yourself in my home."

House bit back an argument as he tried to hide his admiration behind a steely gaze. This was the Cuddy he knew. The Cuddy he loved. Strong. Resolute. Firm and in control. This was the Cuddy who was confident enough to stand literally toe to toe with him and argue her case. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the vial of morphine, rolling it in his palm before he slapped it into her hand. "Yes, Mommy," he muttered. "But when this all goes to shit, remember I thought you were an idiot."

"You always think I'm an idiot."

"Only when you refuse to listen to me."

"Your opinion is noted… and overridden. Now buckle up and let's get home."

Cuddy put the Lexus in Drive and turned onto the road. She was doing the one thing she never thought she would do. She was taking House home.

**tbc**


	7. Chapter 7

* * *

_"Feelings that come back  
are feelings that never left."_

_-Frank Ocean  
_

* * *

Twenty-four hours. Maybe thirty-six. She didn't even know anymore. Time was such a blur. So much had happened. Little more than a day ago, she was sitting in her office poring over budgets and tedious paperwork. She was planning a quiet night with Rachel. Little more than a day ago, House was still dead and Wilson was still alive. In just over a day, she had learned that House was still alive. Enjoyed one last poker night with her friends. Said goodbye to Wilson. Brought House back home with her.

Cuddy struggled to wrap her head around the events of the last day as she pulled into her suburban cul de sac. The neighborhood was quiet—streetlights illuminating well-manicured lawns and tasteful fall decorations. Dogs barked from fenced-in back yards. The sleepy calm of the neighborhood relaxed her as she pulled into her driveway and opened the garage.

She fell in love with the neighborhood the first time she saw it. The commute to work could be unbearable at times—Baltimore traffic was terrible on a good day, but it offered her time to decompress after a long day. She'd considered some of the beautiful townhouses and condos downtown. Remembering her dream loft in Princeton— _Wilson's loft_ —she dove into downtown listings. In the end, she realized how silly her "dream loft" had been. She wanted a yard for Rachel to play in. A patio to sit out on. Outdoor space to call her own. She was a mother. Lofts weren't ideal. Idyllic suburban neighbors, on the other hand, were perfect.

Beside her, House's tension seemed to increase as the garage door closed behind them. His shoulders were stiffer, and the hand rubbing his thigh dug deeper. A small surge of resentment bubbled in her as she watched. Cuddy knew it was illogical—knew their shared history impacted him just as much as it did her, but she didn't want to grant him the right to be uncomfortable. Her house was the one destroyed. If she could be okay with this, he should too. Or perhaps she was just subconsciously expecting the dry attempt at humor that was to come.

"So this is where you're supposed to park the cars in a house, huh?" The joke fell flat, even to him. It was the elephant in the room, the topic they'd glossed over as much as possible, and House was never one to let something go unacknowledged. Not that he particularly wanted to address it himself. Though perhaps pissing her off was the best strategy now. Maybe that was the way to push her away so he could carry out his own plans instead of following hers.

An icy glare greeted him when he turned back to Cuddy. Her eyes narrowed and steel colored.

"Don't."

The word was punctuated by the slam of her car door. Cuddy stood beside the car for a moment, counting to five as she took deep, cleansing breaths to calm herself. Giving into her anger wouldn't help them. Like a toddler throwing a temper tantrum, he was pushing. Like the man who had to call attention to everything, he was addressing the unspoken. She wasn't ready to go there though, and from the look on his face, neither was he.

For once, it seemed he had the sense to not push. Tonight was not the night for that conversation. She was too tired. Too emotional. Too much already happened in the last 24 hours. Maybe that conversation never needed to come. Maybe they could get through tonight, figure out a plan for him, and say goodbye without ever having to go there. But now that she'd seen him, could she really let House walk out of her life again? After promising Wilson that she would help take care of him, could she really say goodbye?

Three times she'd already said goodbye to House. Michigan. Princeton. His death. Could she handle a fourth?

She caught a low groan in her throat. Sleep. She needed to sleep. She needed a clear head to think this all through. House was staring at her, studying her, with the hint of a satisfied smirk turning the corners of his mouth. Cuddy turn on her heel and stomped to the door, walking into the mudroom. Part of her wanted to let the door slam on his face, but he wasn't familiar with her home, and she didn't want him wandering all over. One hand on her hip, she impatiently tapped a foot as he leaned heavily on his cane and made his way to her. From the mudroom, they entered the foyer.

As she closed the door behind them, House stepped into her personal space. Squared off. Toes nearly touching. Chests inches from each other. A familiar position for them. Cuddy pulled her spine straight and lifted her chin. He had the height advantage, but she was on home turf and ready for battle.

"You don't want me here." It wasn't a question. Whether he meant here to be in her personal space or in her home, she wasn't sure.

"You got me, House," she said dryly. "I brought you from Hershey and told you we were coming here because I don't want you here. I'm a masochist like that." She wondered if there was any truth in her sarcasm.

"You don't _want_ me here," he repeated. "You brought me here to satisfy some sick sense of guilt… or obligation to Wilson… or ridiculous savior complex. But you don't _want_ me here." He crossed his arms over his chest, satisfied.

Cuddy put her hands to her hips, tilting one hip to the side and met his smirk. "No, _you_ don't want to be here. You're trying to push me away because you're hurt and scared. Too bad, House. You can't always get what you want. Lick your wounds some other way. I'm going to bed. It's been a long day, and I'm not dealing with this right now." She turned and started to the staircase. "Guest room's up here so unless you want to sleep there on the tile, you might want to follow me."

At the top of the stairs, she let out a sigh of relief for the distance between them. At the hospital, people thought their arguments were some perverse form of foreplay, and honestly, they weren't far off. Her skin was tingling and felt like it was on fire from their proximity. A light flush covered her face and chest. It was a mild standoff for them, but her entire body was reacting to it. Damn the man for still having such an effect on her. She turned to see if he was following and saw him on the stairs, bent over and gripping his thigh. Before she could react and offer to help, he straightened and drug himself up the next step. Using the rail and his cane to keep weight off his leg, House lumbered up the rest of the stairs.

"How bad is the pain?"

"It feels like I'm missing a chunk of muscle from my leg. Oh right, because I am."

Rolling her eyes, Cuddy crossed her arms over her chest. "Number, House. Give me a number."

Her arms pushed her breasts up and accentuated her cleavage. House stared as he answered, "If I'm remembering right, about a 34. C." If she wasn't so concerned, Cuddy would have laughed, but his pain was obviously increasing. She couldn't remember the last time she saw him this bad. She reached up and hooked a finger under his chin, lifting it and directing his sight up as she shot him a pointed look. "Fine. About a seven."

She pressed her lips together and slipped her shoulder under his arm to help support him. "Guest room's this way." While her skin tingled earlier, it burned from the pressure of his body against hers. She shook her head to try to clear away the memories that threatened to overwhelm her from the sensation and guided him to the room. Once settled on the bed, he dug into his bag for his meds while she went to the bathroom for a small cup of water.

Handing him the water, Cuddy nodded toward the bottle of ibuprofen and asked, "Does it help? Is this normal pain for you now?"

"Not really, but it takes the edge off. I took a fall the other day, and it's been spasming on and off since."

The day before Wilson sent Cuddy a text, he had a bad day. Bad days were fairly common at that point, but he was even weaker than normal and struggled to get around. House was helping him to the bathroom when they stumbled, and his thigh hit the corner of the wall when they went down. Between the fall and the muscles tensing from the stress of the last few days, the pain was nagging at him worse than usual.

Cuddy picked at the skin around her thumbnail, feeling awkward. There was a time when she would have laid beside him and offered to massage the aching muscles, but that wasn't an option anymore. Her skin still prickled from their touch earlier. She could only watch as he rested back on the pillow and rubbed it himself.

"Okay, well, bathroom is right across the hall. If you need anything, my bedroom is the one at the end."

He offered only a light nod, eyes closed. "Goodnight, Cuddy."

"Goodnight, House."

She closed her bedroom door and fell back against the cool wall, sliding down it to the floor as exhaustion and emotion claimed her. Knees drawn to her chest, Cuddy folded her arms over them and dropped her head. Her chest heaved with sobs as she finally fell apart. She cried for Wilson. How unfair it was that a man who dedicated his life to fighting cancer would lose his own battle with the disease. She cried for House. He was right—he truly had lost everything. The only things awaiting him were either a life on the run or prison. Or death. No, not death. She wouldn't allow it. She cried for herself. For everything she lost. Her home. _Her_ hospital. Her Wilson. Her House.

She didn't know how long she sat in a ball, crying against the wall before she finally pulled herself up and stumbled to the bathroom to wash her face. The mirror only offered a cruel reflection of red, swollen eyes. As she crawled into bed, she couldn't remember if she actually did wash her face. Didn't remember changing into her tank top and sleep shorts. She only remembered the overwhelming sense of loss.

* * *

The restful sleep she so desperately needed refused to come. Her dreams were tormented. Visions of Wilson alone in that motel room haunted her. Flashes of nights of passion with House tortured her. Every time she woke from one painful dream, she fell back to sleep to find another one awaiting her. She let out a loud groan as she jolted awake again and pulled a pillow over her face. An unsteady _clack-clack-clack_ from downstairs was the only thing that coaxed her to open an eye and look at the clock. House was awake and pacing the tile floor of the foyer. 4:08AM. She groaned again as the clacks faded deeper into the house, toward her kitchen and living room. Groaning again, she untwisted her legs from the sheets. The little sleep she did get was obviously spent tossing and turning. Her legs felt unsteady as she rose and started down the stairs.

As she reached the bottom of the stairs, Cuddy heard a low, mournful melody. House found the piano. She followed the sound to the living room where House sat at the upright and played with his head bowed. The gentle tremble of his shoulders betraying his own grief. She didn't know if he heard her approach or not as she curled up at the end of the sofa and listened to his melancholy song. On the music stand in front of him sat the envelope with his name written in Wilson's handwriting.

He kept playing as he spoke, "Sorry if I woke you. Couldn't sleep. Just needed some sort of distraction." He didn't turn to her, just danced his fingers across the keys. "It's not my baby grand, but not a bad piece you have here."

Cuddy didn't answer, just sleepily sat and listened as the somber tones slowly faded out. She missed hearing him play—missed the conversation he offered through his music. He could tell her more about his feelings through his instruments than he ever could through his words. His fingers stilled and he turned on the bench to face her. His eyes were red-rimmed and jaw tightly clenched, though she didn't know if that was from physical or emotional pain. Maybe both. Probably both.

Definitely both, she concluded as he picked up the envelope from Wilson and rubbed his thigh. The pressure he put on the injured limb was almost violent looking as he dug into it. She unfolded herself from the couch and walked over to sit beside him. They weren't touching but it still felt like there was a charge in the small space between their bodies.

"You gonna read it?" she asked as she propped her elbow on her knee and rested a cheek in her palm.

House looked down at the envelope in his hand and turned it over a few times. It was still sealed.

"Not yet. I can't yet. Not ready for one last Wilson lecture."

A small laugh escaped her. She didn't feel like laughing, but she understood. Cuddy wasn't sure if she was ready for her last bit of Wilson's Word of Wisdom (or meddling) herself. She sat back and leaned toward him, resting her head on his shoulder, "Yeah, not sure I'm ready yet either."

House was still digging into his thigh. It was a bad idea. She knew it was, but Cuddy pushed his hand away and gently massaged the area around his scar. "How bad is it now? A number."

"It cramped in my sleep. About an eight."

She didn't doubt it. The knots under her hand were spasming. It was so easy to forget just how much pain House lived in. The damaged muscle and nerves that tortured him. Biting her lip, she debated before asking, "Do you need some of your morphine?" Seeing his shocked expression, she emphasized, " _Some_. A standard dose."

He lifted her hand from his thigh and grabbed his cane, pushing to a standing position and started to pace the living room. His leg looked like it was going to buckle beneath him.

"No. I'm clean now, Cuddy. I can't go back again. There's only one thing that bottle is for."

The pain, physical and emotional, was evident in his voice. He was straining to talk. Without a word, she stood and guided him to the couch, coaching him to sit before she left the room. A bottle rattled in her hand with every step as she returned. In her other hand, she held a heating pad and a bottle of water. She plugged the heating pad in and laid it across his thigh before she collapsed on the couch beside him, holding the prescription bottle out to him.

He didn't even look at the bottle. The rattle of pills too familiar, too frightening. He couldn't go back.

"It's Toradol. I sprained an ankle running a few months ago and had some left."

Relief and gratitude washed over his face. It wasn't Vicodin. It wouldn't offer the same pain relief as Vicodin, but it also wouldn't give him the high he craved and feared. Most of all, it would take the edge off his pain better than the ibuprofen he took earlier.

Being so close to him was dangerous, but it just felt natural to tuck her feet underneath her and curl up against his side. Cuddy pressed her ear against his chest and listened to his heartbeat, remembering the nights she would fall asleep like this. He wrapped his arm around her shoulder and pulled her closer, thankful for and fearful of the contact. They were like magnets—drawn together or repelling each other in an instant.

Her voice was sleepy as she said, "Tell me about your trip."

As they waited for the medicine to kick in, House told her about his time on the road with Wilson. Cuddy laughed, teared up, and bit back expressions of disgust at various times through the stories. Most of all, she smiled. Wilson had truly _lived_ his last few months. She wanted that for House. She wanted him to be able to live again. Not this shell of a life, devoid of everything he loved. Medicine. Puzzles. Friends. She wanted that for him again.

Daylight started peeking through the windows as she drew circles on his chest with her finger and mused, "You were a good friend to him." Then, "We need to call Stacy today. She could help you get your life back."

A simple "no" from him infuriated her. How could she want this for him more than he did for himself? The argument escalated quickly, with them standing toe to toe again in front of the couch. This time, voices were raised and hands were flying in erratic gestures. He wasn't willing to take the steps to get his life back. She wasn't willing to let him just give up. The space between them closed in as each fought to claim the space. The tension was palpable.

Neither knew who initiated the kiss. Suddenly, the space between them closed and their chests were pressed together, still heaving from the fight. Their lips met, not in soft delicate pecks, but forceful joining, still fighting to exert their dominance over the other. Her tongue slid against his as he gripped the hair at the back of her neck. He nipped at her bottom lip as her nails dug into his shoulders. It was a frenetic, breathless kiss. And when he suddenly stepped back and stared at her with a gaze that bore into her soul, Cuddy was confused. His loud steps echoed in the hall as he retreated. She lifted two fingers to her lips when she heard the door slam from upstairs. Alone in her living room, Cuddy slumped onto her sofa, stunned and confused as a single tear rolled down her cheek.

**tbc**


	8. Chapter 8

_I believe forgiveness is  
the best form of love in any relationship.  
It takes a strong person to say they’re sorry  
and an even stronger person to forgive.  
  
_-Yolanda Hadid

* * *

House laid on the bed, bouncing a rubber handball off the wall. The ghost of Cuddy’s lips still lingered on his. The sting of her nails digging into his skin still burned across his shoulders. The taste of her mouth remained on his tongue. He kissed Cuddy, or perhaps she kissed him. He wasn’t sure—the details were lost in a lusty haze. Evidence of his arousal was slowly diminishing in his cotton sleep pants.

He kissed Cuddy and ran away. Again.

This didn’t make sense. None of it made sense. There was no way Cuddy would even agree to be in the same room as him, nevertheless kiss him. She shouldn’t be taking care of him. Shouldn’t be trying to save him. More than anything else, she shouldn’t want to help him get his life back. She shouldn’t want him to get it back at all. He ruined her life. Drove her from it. House grimaced at the bad pun but couldn’t think of a better way to put it. It should seem like some sort of poetic justice that he lost everything while she rebuilt.

The bouncing of the ball abruptly stopped as fear took over again. Surely, this was all a hallucination. Soon, he would wake up in some shoddy motel room with Wilson’s cold body beside him. The morphine meant to kill him must have just rendered him unconscious and living out some strange dream in his head. That’s all reconciliation with Cuddy could ever be—a dream. He did too many terrible, unforgivable things for it to be anything but. He didn’t deserve that from her.

That wasn’t Cuddy though. He’d done terrible things to her for years, and she always forgave him. She _loved_ him in spite of it all. She never sought vengeance, just happiness for him. The crash though. She could never forgive that. She _should_ never forgive that. He hadn’t forgiven himself for it.

House closed his eyes and visualized a white board, moving clues to the “Hallucination” and “Not Hallucination” sides. Cuddy’s hand in his as she assured him this was _real_ felt so life-like. Then, so had his detox and passionate morning with her. But his hallucinations had never denied being hallucinations. They seemed to relish in it. His subconscious enjoyed torturing with the fact that his reality wasn’t so real. Conjuring an image of Cuddy to save him seemed just as unlikely as her actually being here trying to do so. Even in the warehouse, she didn’t come to him. His mind wouldn’t let her be his savior when he knew he didn’t deserve it. Not from her. Messing up the dose of morphine seemed impossible. He knew what would be needed to achieve his goal and was going to double it just to be safe. He’d worked the plan over and over in his head for months.

_Not Hallucination_

Which only made it all more confusing in the end.

He needed Wilson.

* * *

The echo of the slamming door resounded in Cuddy’s head. The sting of stubble burned her chin. The tight feeling of her hair being gripped tugged at her scalp. The heat of his lips on hers remained.

This was a mistake. She knew it. She’d analyzed it since she decided to bring House with her. The kiss just added a new layer of confusion. She shouldn’t want him. She should be repulsed, not aroused. She shouldn’t care what he did now. She should have left him in Hershey.

She shouldn’t love him.

She was a strong woman. Independent. Assertive. She ran a hospital with a sense of poise and grace so few could accomplish. She stood up to major insurance companies without letting them see her sweat. She was not weak.

Except for House. It was always House who could break her down. Who could step up to her icy glare when everyone else backed down. Who could frustrate, infuriate, and challenge her. Who could crack her grace and poise.

Who could make her forgive the unforgivable. _A moth to a flame_.

Because she loved him. Because she needed him in her life in some way. Because she couldn’t handle saying goodbye to him for a fourth time.

Cuddy shook her head to clear the thoughts. She _couldn’t_ love him. She could take care of him though. Could help him get his life back. Could keep her promise to Wilson. She just needed to convince him to let her.

Daylight crept up the walls as the sun continued to rise. The sleep she desperately needed wouldn’t come now. A heavy groan rattled in her throat as she stood and shuffled toward the stairs. Thankfully, medical school and residency had trained her to run on little sleep. Running a hospital and supervising House had honed the skill.

Her eyes fluttered at she made it to the bathroom and turned on the shower. Sleep gnawed at the edges of her consciousness as steam started to fill the room. This was what she needed to clear her mind and get ready for the day. Dealing with House, she needed a clear mind.

The smell of coffee met Cuddy as soon as she stepped out of the shower, and a throaty moan escaped her lips. The aroma was divine and instantly helped her shake off the lingering fatigue. She could already taste the rich brew, feel the caffeine pouring life back into her blood. Her resolve was strengthened and fortified.

It was crazy. The whole situation was crazy. But then, when wasn’t a situation crazy when House was involved? Crazy was normal with him—expected even. There was a reason she wrote legal fees into his budget when she hired him. And that was the same reason why she was the only administrator who managed to keep him employed. She knew his crazy. Understood it. Was able to manage it. Until she couldn’t, that is, but she refused to entertain those thoughts. Because she would manage this crazy.

She pulled the plush towel around her body and walked over to the mirror, wiping a circle of fog from the bathroom mirror. The healing power of a hot shower and promise of caffeine aside, the physical effects of her exhaustion were showing. Red rimmed eyes sat over dark circles and puffy skin. Her complexion was dull. It was a familiar reflection—one she saw for months after the crash and months after House’s “death.”

“You can do this.”

She gave her mirror a slight smile at her pep talk and grabbed her moisturizer. It was time to get dressed and start _doing this_. Time to start managing the crazy again. It should have filled her with dread, but suddenly, she felt more alive than she had in years. The challenge felt exhilarating. Like the missing piece of her life.

Cuddy chuckled to herself. She was as much an addict as House. He had puzzles and Vicodin. She had order and challenges.

* * *

Gipping the mug with both hands, Cuddy closed her eyes and leaned back against the counter. The kitchen was in disarray from House’s search for coffee and breakfast. Somehow, the mess in her normally ordered and tidy kitchen felt comforting. Familiar. The chaos was a mark of House in her space, a mark she took for granted.

House.

It was too quiet. No music, no tap of a cane, no ball bouncing anywhere, no snores in the bedroom upstairs. Her chest tightened as panic set in. The evidence of his presence surrounded her, but she hadn’t seen him since he ran away after their kiss. She heard the bounce of a ball against her wall when she went up to shower and had reminded herself to scold him later for scuffing the paint. Now, she wondered if she would have the chance. Did he leave? Her breaths drew shallow as the next thought came. Did he have more morphine with him? Did he follow through with his plan?

Bile bit at the back of her throat as she ran up the stairs and threw open the guest room door. Her sigh of relief echoed in the room as she looked around. There was only his bag, not a lifeless body lying on top of the almost undisturbed bedding. She frowned at the bedding—House hadn’t slept at all. It wasn’t a complete surprise. Insomnia was one of House’s closest companions.

With her fears eased, Cuddy left the room and went looking for him. His curiosity was limitless so it would be no surprise if she found him snooping through something private. He wasn’t in her room, at least not when she left the bathroom. She had to check though—her most private space would beckon him. The room was still empty. Remembering the morning before everything fell apart, she lifted the ruffle and checked under the bed, frowning at the dust bunnies she found.

She eased down the stairs again, alert to any sounds that would give away his location. Silence filled the house. In the kitchen, she grabbed her coffee and caught a glimpse of something out the window. There on the patio steps sat House. Grabbing a throw blanket from the back of her couch, she went outside to meet him.

It was a chilly October morning, and a shiver ran up her spine as she sat beside him. He was staring at his shoes, scuffing his left toe on the ground. The envelope with his name on it sat empty beside him, the letter in his hands. He continued folding and unfolding the paper, not acknowledging her presence beside him.

Cuddy was the first who dared to speak, “You read it?”

His nod was so slight she almost missed it. His breath was hitched as he fought back his grief. Unshed tears filled his eyes, but he refused to let them fall. House rarely cried, and he certainly wouldn’t allow himself to do it with an audience. He didn’t look up as he spoke.

“You should hate me.”

Cuddy bit the inside of her cheek and looked down, searching out the obscure point on the patio that held his attention. “I know.” She paused to take a deep breath. “I do… I did…” She gave a slight shake of the head, “I don’t know.”

“I’ve done terrible things to you… unforgivable things.”

“I know.”

“But you’re here. Trying to save me. I don’t deserve your help.”

She leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder and noticed the goosebumps covering his arms. Shrugging the blanket off her shoulder, she scooted closer to him and wrapped one side around him while she clutched the other. “I know. But I’m here.”

House lifted his arm and wrapped it around her waist, pulling her closer to him. “You really are an idiot.”

Wrapped up in his arms, she felt safe and chuckled as she answered, “I know.”

“I’m sorry. For everything. And… you should… call Stacy.” House shifted his foot again, grinding his toe into the patio.

Cuddy shifted her head and looked up, her eyes wide as they met his. Her mouth opened slightly, though she wasn’t sure if it was in shock or from unspoken words. They sat in silence for seconds that seemed to stretch into hours before he spoke again, “You’re right. She might be able to help.”

Cuddy nodded again against his chest. “She will. I… I heard she said some nice things at your funeral. She never stopped loving you.”

He pulled her tighter and spoke into the crown of her head, “You didn’t come.”

He was met with an icy glare, “Did you _really_ expect me to? After everything?” Cuddy wiped her cheek with her palm, considering her words and controlling her tone before she continued. “House, I couldn’t be there. After everything, I couldn’t. For years, even before we got together, it was the House and Cuddy show. If I was there, that’s all your funeral would have been. I didn’t deserve that. You didn’t deserve that… not at your funeral. It needed to be about _you_ , not _us_ and everything that came with that. I just… I couldn’t be there. It doesn’t mean I wasn’t grieving. I just had to do it here. Alone.”

She fought back tears as she felt him press a kiss to the top of her head.

“You should call her today.”

Reaching down to the hand wrapped around her waist, Cuddy interlaced her fingers with his and looked up. Every emotion he felt was clear in his eyes. Loss. Regret. Grief. Pain. She tilted her chin up and reached her other hand around his head, drawing him down for a soft, chaste kiss. It wasn’t like the passionate, angry meeting of lips and desire earlier in the morning. Their lights lighted pressed together, feathering over each other before they buried their faces in each other’s shoulder.

“I’ll call her today.”


	9. Chapter 9

_When a person can’t find  
a deep sense of meaning,  
they distract themselves   
with pleasure.  
  
-_Viktor Frankl

* * *

Burying her face into House’s shoulder, Cuddy drew a deep breath through her nose, savoring the scent that was so uniquely _him_. A combination of his cologne, soap, and natural scent that comforted her. She remembered rolling over in the middle of the night and melting into him as the scent enveloped her. It wasn’t a pungent scent, wasn’t overwhelming, but she would always recognize him by it. Attuned to it, she could track him through the hospital by following the traces of it. Pressed up against him, feeling his arm wrapped around her and his fingers tightening on her waist, her mind wandered to how much headier and muskier he smelled after sex. How his natural cologne developed as sweat formed on his skin. How it would cling to her and her sheets after a particularly passionate night. How she refused to wash her sheets for weeks after their breakup so she could smell him as she fell asleep curled into his pillow.

As if he was reading her thoughts, House spoke low into her shoulder, “You changed your body wash. It’s less toasted coconut with a hint of citrus and more,” he paused and sniffed into the crook of her neck, “lavender and vanilla… with a bit of musk.”

His voice vibrated against her skin. His breath warmed it. His lips brushed against the sensitive spot at the base of the neck. It wasn’t deliberate contact but light grazes as he spoke with his face buried into her. Cuddy suppressed a moan as her body reacted to the sensations. Her pulse quickened as her breath shallowed. Warm heat spread across her lower abdomen.

There was so much more they needed to talk about. So much more to discuss. She wanted to know what changed his mind— why he was abandoning his suicide plan and agreeing to call Stacy. The folded paper in his hands, the letter from Wilson, obviously had an impact. She just didn’t know why or how. She wanted to ask about his leg and pain. His overnight episode worried her, and she needed to know how often it got that bad. She wanted to know what he was feeling, though she doubted he would open up about it.

None of that mattered to her in the moment. Cuddy could only think of their magnetic draw to each other and how her body was responding to him. Logically, she knew there should have been red warning lights flashing overheard. There could never be _just sex_ between them. Too much history lay behind them. Too many feelings still bubbled to the surface. Too much grief surrounded them. But every logical reason against it also drove her closer to him until she shifted to lift a leg and straddle House’s lap, carefully avoiding his thigh.

She shifted and ground her hips against his lap as she reached up to cup his cheeks. Stubble prickled against her palms. Brushing a thumb over his bottom lip, Cuddy stared into his eyes. His eyes were darkened with arousal, the vibrant blue merely a ring around large black pupils. The beginnings of his erection pushed against her sex through their clothes. House slid his hands up and down her sides and leaned forward, letting out a low groan as their lips met for the third time that morning. Cuddy echoed it with a soft moan, opening her lips to accept the tip of his tongue into her mouth. House accepted the invitation, grazing his tongue against hers. She slid her hands from his cheeks to the back of his head, pulling him closer to deepen the kiss. House’s hands stopped over her hips, and he pulled them into him, eliminating the space between them. Slowly, languidly, their lips and tongues danced over each other. Cuddy savored one last taste of his mouth, the bitterness of his coffee still lingering on his tongue, before she kissed the corner of his lips and trailed light kisses over his cheek to the sensitive spot behind his ear. He threw his head back and groaned, gripping her hips and pushing them back on his lap when she opened her mouth to lightly suck that spot.

The sudden distance confused her, but Cuddy continued nipping and kissing down his neck before she felt his hands on her shoulders, pushing her away.

“Cuddy…” House growled, voice strained by the effort of restraint.

She looked down and pulled her hands from his head, refusing to meet his eyes as the sting of rejection overwhelmed her. One thing she’d always been confident in was House’s attraction to her, but he was pushing her away for the second time that morning. When he ran away earlier, she was able to justify it because they’d come together in such a heated way. This time it was a slow, sensual meeting, not driven by adrenaline. She felt something deeper as they came together, but he clearly didn’t want her.

“Cuddy,” he repeated, lifting her chin with a finger, but she refused to meet his eyes. She didn’t want him to see the hurt in hers. She pulled her shoulders back and started to push herself off his lap when he grabbed her hips and held her in place. Her glare would have wilted most men, but this was House. House thrived on her glares, her clipped tones, and her ability to spar with him. He didn’t wilt under the glare but returned a sad, mournful look at he took her hand and guided it to the erection straining his jeans. “I want to, Cuddy. I want _you_ … but we can’t.”

Cuddy brushed a thumb over the bulge and felt it twitch. “Why not? I like sex, House. _You_ like sex. Why shouldn’t we do something that feels good after the last couple days?”

Trying to gather strength, he closed his eyes as she continued stroking with her thumb and pushed her hand away. “You’re looking for a distraction.”

Cuddy shoved herself off his lap, disgust washing over her face. She snatched the blanket from where it had fallen off their shoulders and stormed away. House turned to watch her, meeting her eyes as she stopped at the door and shot back at him, “No House, that’s your thing. Vicodin. Your parade of hookers. All the ridiculous games. It’s all about distractions for you.”

She was standing at the kitchen counter, pouring another cup of coffee when he made it back inside. Calmly, House took the pot from her hand and poured more into his cup as he spoke, “Sex as a distraction was my thing. But you had your distractions too. Your job. Your home. Building a perfect little family… _Lucas_. All distractions from the things you didn’t want to deal with.”

Slamming the mug on the counter, she turned to him. “No, that was all called being an _adult_ , something you never seemed to get a grasp of. A career, a home? You call that _distraction_?” A low, ironic laugh filled the air. “And Lucas was never a distraction. That was a relationship.”

“Bullshit, Cuddy. When something went wrong, you buried yourself in work. You obsessed over the smallest details of your home to avoid bigger issues. And we both know Lucas was always a poor substitute for me.”

She wanted to deny it, but it would be a futile effort. She hid behind her job for years. She cleaned and tended to her house when stressed. Focused on issues like toilet seats rather than her bigger concerns in their relationship. And Lucas… she sighed at that thought. He truly was a poor substitute for House. Similar enough to fill the void of House in her life, especially when he was away at Mayfield, but with slightly rounder edges. In the end though, not enough to replace the infuriating man standing in front of her.

Crossing her arms, Cuddy spat back, “And your _wife_? What was she?”

House shrugged, “A business arrangement. And, like the ‘parade of hookers,’ a poor substitute for the woman I really wanted with me. But she wasn’t a distraction… not like that. I never slept with Dominika. I couldn’t.”

“Yeah, right,” she scoffed. “Then what did you get out of this so-called business arrangement?”

“She was supposed to be a live-in maid, personal assistant, cook, and massage therapist. Didn’t work out though. She left for Atlantic City with her boyfriend right after the wedding. Plus… I didn’t think it would ever get that far.” Cuddy cocked her chin and shot him a questioning look before he explained, “I thought you’d stop it. You _always_ stopped it when my crazy went too far… when I took things to an eleven. I thought it would be a sign you still cared.”

“Of course I cared, you idiot!”

“Didn’t seem like it. I meant so little to you that you were willing to drop me for one small slip, and then you went into Ice Queen mode. It was like it never hurt you at all.”

Cuddy rubbed her palms down her face, “So are we finally going to have our fight about the breakup?”

“Seems kind of pointless now. It’s ancient history. We don’t work together anymore. Don’t have to see each other anymore. I can go upstairs, get my things, and walk out the door, and we can forget about each other again. That’s why I stopped it out there, Cuddy, why I can’t sleep with you. I had you once, and losing you hurt too much. I ruined my life. I ruined _your_ life. I can’t have you and lose you again.”

Feeling herself soften at his confession, she dropped her arms and put a hand to his chest, “I’m here, House, and I’m not going anywhere. I’m going to help you get your life back. But that so-called ‘ancient history’ is _still_ hurting both of us. Our old games of deflect and avoid didn’t work so why don’t we try something new?”

“You want to sit and talk about our feelings and sing Kombaya?”

“Let’s not go that far... but we could try honesty for a change. Openness. And yeah, maybe sharing some feelings for good measure.”

“Why? Why are you doing this, Cuddy? You’re here in your new house, your new life, probably with a new boyfriend. You could have left me in Hershey. You could have turned me in. Why do you care?”

It was the question she avoided the night before, deflecting with a comment about Wilson’s wish that they take care of each other. It wasn’t the full answer, and they both knew it. House was capitalizing on an opportunity since she just proposed that they try openness and honesty for a change. She pulled her hand from his chest and lifted between them. “First, I told you last night Mr. Wonderful didn’t last so you can stop trying to probe about my relationships. I’m single. If you think _that_ ,” she waved toward the back patio, “would have happened if I wasn’t, you don’t know me as well as I thought you did.”

“A lot can change after a couple years.”

“What happened to people don’t change?” _Checkmate_. “And second, for such a genius, you really can be such an idiot someti—”

“You’re throwing that word around a lot lately.”

She smirked and crossed her arms again, raising an eyebrow, “I learned from the master of it. But you’d have to be an idiot to not realize the _why_ by now, House.” Biting the corner of her bottom lip, she measured her next words before speaking. “I still… I love you, House. I don’t think I ever stopped. You think it didn’t hurt me when we broke up? You were just too wrapped up in your own pain, in your pranks and games, to even look for it. And when Wilson told me you died, I was devastated. I’d spent so long _trying_ to hate you, but I couldn’t deny how devastated I was. My family told me I was ridiculous, but it didn’t matter. And when I saw you the other night… I wanted to summon the anger again, but all I felt was relief that you weren’t dead. I don’t know where we go from here, but I know I need you in my life.”

“So we’re back to that? You wish you didn’t love me, but you can’t help it?”

The words felt like a slap to her face. It was what she said to him the night she broke up with Lucas and started a relationship with House. Hearing him repeat them, she felt sick. “That… wasn’t fair to you.”

House looked down, sadness filling his tone, “But it’s where we started. You never _wanted_ to love me. The foundation of our relationship was you wishing you didn’t love me, and you spent the entire time looking for reasons to justify _not_ loving me. For ways to make that wish come true. And we’re right back there now.”

“That’s not fair to me, House. I did love you. I wasn’t looking for a way out. _You_ were the one who spent the whole relationship seeing the end around the next corner.”

Long repressed emotions bubbled to the surface, and House yelled, “Because it always _was_ lingering around the next corner! You want the fight? Okay… You didn’t want to introduce me to Rachel. When I lied to you _at work_ , something I’d done a thousand times before, you shut me out for a week! You never even tried to see it from my perspective. You never thought that maybe lying to you was a way of protecting you and your job if things didn’t go right! You nit-picked everything and shut me out again over toilet seats and toothbrushes! And worst of all, when I thought I was losing you after finally having you… when I thought you were _dying_ , I relapsed and you broke up with me for it. I gave up two years of sobriety so I could be with you, and I lost everything for it! You knew I was an addict and used one slip as justification to end it. At a time when it wouldn’t be out of the question to offer the family Ativan or something to get through, no one thought I might need some help. They just harped on me for not being there for you. So I did what I had to do so I could be there for you, and you broke up with me for it! So tell me I wasn’t justified in looking for the break up around every corner because it was there at every one I looked down.”

The shock of his outburst made Cuddy gasp and bring both hands over her chest. Hearing him break it all down like that, she felt sick. She’d never looked at their relationship from his perspective. Never acknowledged all the effort he had made for her. “I’m sorry, House. I never meant to make you feel like that. I just wanted a partner in—”

“No, Cuddy, you wanted a little lap dog. Someone you could control like you controlled everything else in your life. And I guess you had that with Lucas, but he still didn’t measure up because he wasn’t me. But when you got me, it still wasn’t enough because it was _me_ , not some perfect little well-trained version of me.”

Faced with her own failings in their relationship, Cuddy dropped her head and wiped away the tears that fell. “That wasn’t what I wanted.”

Seeing her distress, House softened his tone. He knew his point had hit home. “It was what you wanted, but you just didn’t see it yourself. You only saw my shortcomings. And then you broke up with me without a second thought and turned into the Ice Queen.”

“House, you never gave me the chance to have a second thought. You instantly started the insanity with the parade of hookers and the mail order wife.”

“Like I said, I thought you’d stop me.”

“I couldn’t. I told Wilson that I couldn’t fix your problem because _I_ was your problem. That didn’t mean I stopped caring though. That didn’t mean it didn’t hurt me just as much.”

“You had a funny way of showing it… and by that I mean not showing it.”

“How could I, House? I still had a hospital to run, and that was even more difficult than normal with your insanity. I had a daughter to worry about… worry about and comfort because she was missing her best friend. I had to try to keep it all together or _everything_ would have fallen apart.”

“And yet, it all fell apart anyway.” He pushed off the counter and grabbed his cane, “Well, this whole sharing your feelings thing has been tons of fun. Let’s try it again never.”

Before he could limp away, Cuddy grabbed his hand and pulled him back. “No, you don’t get to walk away now, not when we’re finally getting somewhere. I’m sorry, House. You’re right, I wasn’t fair to you. I gave up too soon. I thought I was protecting Rachel… protecting myself… but all I did was hurt _all_ of us. But I’m not going to make that mistake again. I’m not going to give up on you so easy. We’re going to call Stacy and fight to get your life back. I told you—I need you in my life.”

House looked down at their hands then back up to Cuddy, shooting her a skeptical glance. “And when I relapse again, Cuddy? I’m an addict. It’s a _when_ , not an _if_. I wanted it last night. I could have relapsed again last night. What about when I go to prison for years? You’ll forget about me before my sentence is ever half over.”

“You could have relapsed this morning, House. I offered you morphine and you turned it down. But if—when—you do, we’ll deal with it. I won’t throw in the towel so quickly next time. I was wrong. I let myself forget you’re an addict—quit planning contingencies for you. I’m the one who always has plans and back up plans, and I never thought to help make one for your addiction. So we’ll work on that. And I know now that cutting you off to protect myself and Rachel just hurt us all even more so that’s not an option. As for jail, we’ll talk to Stacy and figure that out. But I won’t give up on you, and I won’t forget about you. I can’t—never have been able to since Michigan. In spite of everything, you’re still the most incredible man I’ve ever known.”

He lowered his forehead to hers and stood there for a second. “Your refusal to see the giant, gaping chasm between what is and what could be is… in this case, it’s epic, Cuddy. What about Rachel?”

“What about her?”

“Where is she now? Where does she fit into this great plan of yours?”

“She’s at Julia’s right now. I have to call them later today. And… I don’t know. Do you want to see her?”

“I don’t want to hurt her when I have to go away again. What… what does she know about me?”

“Nothing really. I just told her we weren’t friends anymore and made my mom and sister swear they wouldn’t say anything around her. She was so young and loved you so much I didn’t want to destroy her image of you. I didn’t think she could understand. She asked about you for a long time… wanted to show you her new room after we moved here. I think she would be happy to see you again. And… _if_ you have to go away, I think she’d be okay as long as she could write you letters and talk to you on the phone.”

“That’s asking a lot of the kid, Cuddy.”

“She’s a good kid. Really smart… I think she’ll understand more than we think she could. But we can figure that out after we talk to Stacy. I never did get that law degree so I don’t know what we’re looking at. And for all your genius, neither do you.”

House pulled her to him and spoke into the crown of her head, “It’s not good, Cuddy. I really fucked up this time.”

She nuzzled into his shoulder and lifted a hand to his cheek, “Maybe not as bad as you think. And no matter what, it was worth it to give Wilson these last months with you. I’m still so proud of you for being there for him.”

The words were unspoken between them. They both wished he’d been able to do the same for her. Rubbing his cheek on the top of her head, he gave voice to their unspoken thoughts, “I wasn’t at first. I tried to bully him into treatment at first. But in the end, it was easier with him than it was with you. I learned a bit from how bad I messed it up with you. And I loved Wilson, but it was different… he wasn’t the woman of my dreams I was finally starting a life with when cancer threatened it. And… he didn’t tell me until it was already a definite thing. I just wish I’d been better for you.”

“You were as good as you could be at the time. I just didn’t see it.”

“Guess we both messed it up.”

Lifting to her toes, Cuddy placed a kiss to his lips, “Yeah, but I guess we both learned from it too. And we’re here now and going to make it right. We’ll get through this, House. I promise I won’t abandon you this time… please don’t run from me either.”

He pressed his cheek to hers and nodded, not able to find any words to reply.

Cuddy lowered herself so she stood flat-footed in front on him and smiled up at him as she took his hand again with a coy smile. “Now that we’ve settled all of that, can we please go upstairs and enjoy a little distraction together?”

The thought turned House’s stomach, and he fought to keep a look of disgust off his face. He didn’t want her to misread the reaction, but he could never think of her as a distraction. Hookers were a distraction. She was so much more. He didn’t understand why she was here, fighting for him, but he couldn’t deny how much he still loved her. Calling anything between them would be demeaning and untrue, and he couldn’t stomach it.

“Cuddy, you could never be just a distraction to me.”

She gave him a sexy smile as she started to pull him toward the stairs then looked over her shoulder and said, “Good, because you’re more than a distraction to me too. So let’s go make love then figure out how to bring you back to life.”

**tbc**


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N- I apologize for the delay in this chapter. This was more challenge than I anticipated- my first time writing fiction, my first time writing Fanfiction, and now my first time writing smut all rolled into one story. If smut isn’t your thing, let me know and I’ll find some way (line breaks or something) to note it so you can skip. However, I will say my plan isn’t to include smut in this just for smut’s sake and have it serve a purpose to the overall story.

* * *

_they slipped  
briskly  
into an intimacy  
from which they  
never recovered_

-f. scott fitzgerald

* * *

With an extra sway to her hips, she led him to her bedroom. As soon as she stepped through the doorway, Cuddy felt House’s strong arms wrap around her waist and pull her back. She melted back into him, breathlessly anticipating the next touch. He splayed his hands across her abdomen, lightly caressing over her shirt. Anticipation and want threatened to consume her as he hugged her tighter, dropped his head, and pushed her hair back with his nose. Her eyelids fluttered when she felt his hot breath against her ear. His lips parted against her skin and she held back a moan, waiting for a graze of his teeth or tongue. The sensations were so overwhelming, she almost didn’t register his words when he spoke.

“Are you sure about this?”

She knew she shouldn’t be sure, but she was. She wanted this. She needed this. She had never been more sure of anything before. She needed a break from the onslaught of emotions of the last few days… of the last couple years. She needed to fight it out with him through their bodies, to replace the pains of their past with pleasure. She needed to make him feel alive again, to convince him through waves of pleasure that living was worth it. Yes, she was sure, and she couldn’t handle another false start.

Eyes hooded with desire, she turned her head to look at him over her shoulder and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. “For everything we messed up, House, this was one thing we were always good it. Yes, I’m sure. I want this. I need this. I need to feel alive. I need to feel that _you’re_ alive.” She reached up to cradle his head in her hand as she wondered if he was asking because _he_ wasn’t sure. He stopped them once already. He said he couldn’t because of the risk of having her and losing her was too great. Perhaps he decided he couldn’t do it. Cuddy tried to collect herself, to prepare herself for rejection, as she directed the question back to him.

A low moan rumbled in her throat as he pushed his erection against her back and nipped her ear before answering, “I think you may have straightened out my limp. Or given me another cane, I’m not sure.” She chuckled in reply but felt sobered by the mention of his limp. His gait was still unsteady, and he struggled up the stairs. He was obviously in more pain than he would admit, and she worried they might aggravate it more. Before she could delve too deeply into her worries, he brought her back as he continued, “I already told you that you don’t have to get me drunk to take advantage of me, Cuddy. I will never not want you. But you were the one who said last night that it wasn’t happening.”

She threw a seductive grin over her shoulder and winked with her retort, “Everybody lies.”

His hands drifted lower on her abdomen and slipped under the hem of her shirt. It felt like lightning bolts shot through her as his fingers pressed into her bare skin and trailed upwards. She could feel him smirk against her neck. “You seem to be using an awful lot of my lines lately.”

Whatever witty response Cuddy had was swallowed by another moan when House pinched her nipple through the lace of her bra. Words failed her as he rolled the stiff peak between his fingers and ran his tongue down the length of her neck. Damp heat pooled in her pants from the attention he was paying to her breasts. His fingers felt like they were everywhere at once, cupping, pinching, kneading. She wanted the moment to last forever but needed it to end so she could feel more of him. She covered his hands with her own and interlaced their fingers, drawing a lazy trail back to her waist before dropping them to her sides and walking him to the bed.

At the side of the bed, she turned in his arms and cupped his face in her hands, drawing him in for a deep, slow kiss. Her tongue grazed over his teeth. He responded ardently, sucking her tongue then biting her bottom lip before flicking his tongue over it. His hands returned to her waist, pushing her shirt up until he broke the kiss to pull it over her head. House stepped back, awestruck and drank in the sight of her. Her toned stomach and full breasts wrapped up in a black lace bra took his breath away. He pulled her in and covered her mouth with his as he unsnapped her bra and pulled the straps off her shoulders.

Cuddy broke the kiss, the desire to feel his skin against her becoming urgent. She grabbed his shirt and pulled it over his head with a husky, “Mmmm… You’re overdressed.”

House popped the button of her jeans and slowly slid them down her hips before leaning into her, pushing her onto the bed. “So are you.” Inch by inch, he exposed her black lace thong and creamy skin as he pushed her jeans down her legs. The slow pace proved tortuous to Cuddy, and she lifted her hips to push her thong down with them. Tossing her jeans and underwear to the side, House stared at her naked body and said with a breath, “God, you’re beautiful.”

Cuddy grabbed him by the waistband of his jeans and pulled him closer. “You don’t believe in God.”

He lifted her chin with a finger and bent down, speaking into the kiss, “I do now.”

She needed to feel him. Needed to touch him. She broke the kiss and pushed him back, fumbling with the button and zipper on his jeans as she kissed the exposed skin of his stomach. He toed off his shoes and socks and kicked them to the side before she reached into his boxers. House threw his head back and let out a long moan when her fingers wrapped around him and started stroking his length. With a few involuntary thrusts into her hand, he knew he needed to stop her. He needed release as much as she did, but he wanted to last. If this could be the last time he had her, if she could realize later what a mistake this was for her, he needed to savor every second he had. He was sure this was just her reacting to the grief and emotions of the last couple days and couldn’t bring himself to believe that this could ever happen again. He needed to commit every sensation, every bit of her to memory.

He pulled her hand away and dropped to his knees in front of her. His thigh protested, and he would regret the position later, but it was worth it to see her splayed in front of him. She leaned back and propped herself up on her elbows as he took her legs and guided them over his shoulders. Her legs parted in front of him, revealing her glistening sex. He licked his lips, a hungry look coming over him and leaned in to taste her. She gasped and bucked as his tongue met her core with a long, languid lick.

The smell of her was intoxicating. The taste a sweet nectar he could never forget. He flattened his tongue against her again, drawing a long moan from her. He glanced up and caught her eye as she watched him lick and suck each fold. The sight of her watching was more erotic to him than anything he’d ever experienced before. He held the gaze as he sucked her clit and inserted one finger into her hot core. She threw her head back and moaned out encouragements for more. Still licking and sucking, he added another finger, pushing deep into her and pulling back. He scissored his fingers inside her, finding her G-spot and stroking it as he grazed her slit with his teeth.

Her hips were rocking against him face, and her inner walls were starting light contractions around his fingers as she moaned his name. He knew she was close and eased the pressure, wanting to extend her pleasure for as long as possible. He pulled her back from the edge before working her back to it. He pushed a third finger into her and was about to take her swollen clit between his lips to push over when she sat up and grabbed his arms. With a breathy “House” on her lips, she tried to pull him up.

“Not yet,” she panted, teetering on the edge of release. “I want you inside of me.”

He swiped a finger the sensitive spot inside of her again, trying to beckon her release as he spoke, “You think you’re only getting one? I will be for the next one.”

She kept pulling on his arms. He was stronger than her, but she was determined, “No. Now. I need you inside me now.”

It wasn’t in his nature to acquiesce, but the look on her face and his pulsing erection compelled him to give in. Cuddy was determined—she would fight the orgasm, deny herself the pleasure to deny him if he didn’t. He feared the battle of the wills would turn him into a teenager, coming in his own pants. He pulled his hand from her, gliding a finger over her clit as he did. She jerked from the sensation, still teetering on the edge of orgasm.

He pushed his hands into the mattress, using them as leverage to stand as she continued pulling him up. Once he was standing and crawling over her, Cuddy took his hand and drew his fingers to her mouth, sucking her juices from them. House moaned at the erotic sight. She was a goddess. She withdrew his fingers from her mouth and grabbed his head to pull him in for a kiss. Her taste lingered on his mouth and chin, and she licked and sucked it all away.

House grabbed her shoulders and rolled them so she was on top. His leg wouldn’t let him take her the way he wanted, and he wanted to give her some degree of control. She rolled her hips over him, sliding her wet folds over the length of him. With one push, he could be inside her. With one thrust, they could be joined.

With a gasp, he grabbed her hips to still her and growled, “Condom.”

Cuddy ran her hands through the sparse hair on his chest and bit her lip in contemplation. Shaking her head, she looked down at him with hooded eyes and a coy smile, “Unless you’ve taken that specialty in infectious diseases literally, I trust you. I want to feel you.”

The corner of his mouth turned up into a small smirk, and he dug his fingers further into her hips. “I’m clean, but I don’t know if I could trust Party Pants here.”

She should have been offended, but the playful banter only heightened her arousal. It wasn’t an insult but a fond throwback to the carefree days of college. She reached down and gripped him as she lifted her hips and sunk down on him, nails digging into his chest.

“Fuck,” she hissed as he filled her. His smirk grew with her exclamation. She knew he always loved to be the one to break her poise, to elicit such profanities from her. They were still for a moment, letting her adjust to him, and held each other’s eyes. House broke the still of the moment, sliding his hands back to her ass and slowly rocking her over him.

This wasn’t what she imagined from this. After their poker game, she went to her hotel room with fantasies of rough, hard sex with House filling her head. As soon as she saw him, she knew they would end up in bed together, as much as she tried to deny and fight it. She just expected an angry, rough joining. She thought they would let out old hurts physically. This wasn’t what she expected, but it was somehow better. It was tender. It was healing.

She leaned forward, and he took a nipple into his mouth. His hands were everywhere, gripping her ass then sliding over her ribs. Cupping her breast then holding her hips. He was all around her, inside of her, and nothing felt more right. The urge for _more_ forced her to move, lifting up on her knees until only the tip of him was penetrating her then sinking back down so he filled her completely. She kept the pace slow, wanting to prolong the pleasure she felt. The pleasure she could see on his face. Moans and grunts and breathless pants filled the room around them like a chorus of pleasure.

As the need started building, he thrust up into her, meeting and deepening her movements. His name fell off her tongue, and he echoed it with hers. Their pace increased—still not rough but faster. Her legs trembled as she quickly climbed to the peak with punctuated gasps of “More,” “Faster,” and “Harder.” He squeezed her harder, meeting each request with thrusts to counter her own. Pleasure threatened to overwhelm her. Emotion built inside her. She tried to fight, wanting to fall over the edge with him.

“Come for me, Cuddy,” he said in punctuated gasps as his fingers dug into her ass, rocking her harder against his thrusts.

She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head, trying to find her voice in the haze of her burgeoning pleasure. “No. Yes. Yes. Not yet. Yessss,” her thoughts were interrupted with another moan. “With you. Please.”

With a stroke of her clit, he thrust deeper into her, pulling her forcefully back, “I’m right behind you. Come for me. Come apart for me, Cuddy.”

And she did. She cried out his name and arched her back, digging her hips deeper against his. Waves of pleasure overtook her body, and a tidal wave of emotion followed. Her inner walls pulsed around him, pulling him with her. As her muscles tensed around him, he shot long streams into him, and they slowly rolled their hips together through it, extending the shockwaves that overtook them both.

She collapsed onto his chest as sobs overtook her when the physical release calmed. The built up emotions kept rolling in, and she shook against his chest with heaving gasps for breath. Tears rolled from her eyes onto his shoulders. She hooked her arms under her shoulders, and he wrapped his arms tightly around her as they rode out the emotion. She would never know it, but a tear rolled down his cheek as he held her.

Burrowed into his shoulder, her sobs finally calmed enough for her to speak. “Why’d you do it, House? Why?”

He didn’t need to ask for clarification on the _what_ this time. He knew. They couldn’t ignore it anymore. The crash. With her release came a need to release _that._ The darkest, worst part of them. They came together, but it was still threatening to drive them apart. He didn’t have an explanation for her. There would never be one that could make it right. There would never be one that could undo the damage. There would never be one that could give them _this_ back.

He hugged her tighter and nuzzled his face into her neck, hoping her wouldn’t feel the wet trail on his cheek. “I don’t know.”

She pushed back, sitting up on his chest, and tear filled eyes met each other.

“Not good enough, House. You always have—”

He was softening inside her, but neither moved to break the connection. His tone was mournful, “No, Cuddy, no reason could ever be good enough. I can’t make that right.” He turned his face away, unable to meet her eye anymore.

“No, you can’t. But you can help me understand.”

He held her hips and rolled her off of him before he rolled away, trying to get up. “I can’t help you understand because I don’t. I was high… out of my mind high. I was hurt. I was… I saw you there with him, moving on, and I was stuck. I needed to do something—something to give up hope because hope was killing me. So I did something unthinkable—unforgivable—because that was the only thing I could do. That was the only way to give up hope.”

Cuddy pulled herself to her knees and put a hand on his shoulder. “House…”

He didn’t turn to her. He couldn’t. This was the moment he dreaded, and he couldn’t face her for it. “I can’t make it right, Cuddy. That’s why we shouldn’t have done this. Because I’ll never be able to make that right, and hope would only hurt more.”

Before she could reply, he stood and limped from the room. She could only watch as his naked backside crossed the doorway and disappeared, leaving his cane propped by the wall and his clothes scattered on the floor.


	11. Chapter 11

* * *

_Hope…  
which is whispered from  
Pandora's box only after all the other  
plagues and sorrows had escaped  
is the best and last of all things._

-Ian Caldwell

* * *

An unbearable chill seeped into her skin as she watched him retreat from the room. She felt his absence as deeply within her as she did physically when she ran her hand over the tangled bedsheets. She'd already said the words… already confessed it to him, but now she truly understood. She wanted him. She _needed_ him. She _loved_ him. For as much as she tried to deny it for years, she still loved him. She still needed him with her. And she was already messing it up.

The string of expletives never left her mouth, only resounded in her head, but they filled the room. Cuddy rubbed her face with her palms, trying to understand her own actions. Trying to work through a way to fix everything.

Everything.

There was still so much they needed to fix. The moment had been perfect, coming together with him, but so much still hung over them. She chastised herself for ruining that perfect moment. It wasn't a choice she had made—the words spilled out before she could catch them. She was stripped naked, physically and mentally, and overtaken by the surge of emotion that accompanied her orgasm. It was unanticipated, unplanned, and _raw_. And horribly timed.

She shivered against the chill in the room and wished she was still pressed against him. Wished the moment hadn't been shattered.

No amount of wishing could make it true though, and she knew she needed to find him and try to repair the delicate balance they'd found. She couldn't take back the question, but they couldn't avoid the topic anymore. Pandora's Box was opened, and they needed to come together to deal with it.

 _Hope would only hurt more_.

House's words echoed in her head, and she finally understood why, when the lid of Pandora's Box was replaced, only hope remained. Hope wouldn't have to hurt more if it wasn't buried under all of their pain. She just had to catch him before he could run away, following the pain that had escaped. She knew he couldn't go far, not without his cane. Mentally though, she worried he may already be gone.

With both hope and apprehension, she climbed off the bed and wrapped herself in her robe to go find him. She took his cane from where it rested against the wall and made her way down the hall to the guest room. She hadn't heard his heavy footsteps on the stairs and knew he was too unsteady to navigate them without the support of his cane. The closed door to the room confirmed that he'd retreated there.

At the door, she hesitated and bit the inside of her cheek. She could knock and face likely rejection. She could take a play from his own book and barge in, speaking before he had the opportunity to stop her. There were still times she would find herself glancing up from paperwork, waiting for someone to come storming through her doors in dramatic fashion and breaking up the monotony of her day. No one could make an entrance like him.

She chose to stick with the familiar and pulled her shoulders back before softly turning the knob and pushing the door open, sliding into the doorway. He was sitting on the bed, reclined back against the headboard and tossing a ball from hand to hand. Cuddy suddenly felt exposed wearing nothing but her robe when she realized he'd put on his sleep pants and a t-shirt. She held his gaze after he looked up, trying to pour apologies into the look before he could throw her out.

Leaning against the frame, she hooked his cane on the doorknob and broke the silence. "I'm sorry."

"Nothing to be sorry for, Cuddy. We finally had breakup sex—amazing breakup sex—you cried. You asked for answers I can't give you. I ran away. End of story."

She nodded toward his cane with a wry grin, "You weren't getting very far without that." Pulling her robe tighter, she crossed the room to stand beside the bed and tapped his feet. He shifted them over, giving her space to sit beside him. She kept her tone soft and asked, "Is that all you think that was though? Breakup sex?"

House didn't speak at first, only offering a surprised look in reply. She rested a hand on his shin and raised an eyebrow. Anxiety welled up inside her, but she was determined to maintain her calm façade for this conversation. He was the one who said he couldn't have her and lose her again. He was the one who told her she could never be a distraction. That he was reducing it to "breakup sex" hurt, but she wouldn't let it show. She understood him—understood he was building his defenses—and was willing to wait him out.

"Well, we were a couple years late on it, but—"

"It wasn't, House. It meant more than that. That wasn't a goodbye. It… it felt like coming home."

He gave a playful snicker. "I think you mean House coming. Because I did."

She laughed in spite of herself at the juvenile humor and lightly slapped his chest. "You're still an ass."

"And you still have a great ass." He rolled the ball on his lap, averting his eyes. "But you didn't come in here just to hear that."

Cuddy bit her lip and gave his leg a gentle squeeze. "No, I didn't. I want—"

With a sigh, he cut her off, "You want answers I can't give you. You want an explanation. Something to make this—" he motioned a finger between them, "okay."

She pulled her hand from his leg and cupped his cheek. "This—" Cuddy waved her finger between them, copying his gesture, "will be okay as long as I can understand. I want this to be okay, but I can't go through that again. I can't put Rachel through that again. I just—I need to know how we got there. How you could do that to me."

"Wilson said you told the cop you were always waiting for something to happen. So there's your answer, Cuddy."

She wiped her face with her palm and looked up to the ceiling. "I was angry and upset, House. But I was always waiting for _something…_ you were always so _self_ -destructive. Electrocuting yourself. Jumping off balconies. Performing surgery on yourself. I just… I never thought you would try to hurt _me._ "

"I never wanted to hurt you."

She wanted to reassure him, tell him that she knew. She _did_ know that he would never hurt her, but the whole situation still seemed so surreal to her. She still couldn't rationalize the House who did that against the House she knew, the House she loved… _this House_. "You could have killed me."

His face fell. She didn't sound angry. She didn't even sound upset as she said it. It was just a stoic, point-blank statement of truth. House dropped his head. "That's all I thought about for months. On that beach. In prison. Everywhere. I could have killed you. I wanted it to be a hallucination. I wanted to wake up at home or in the hospital or even Mayfield as long as it meant it wasn't real. That's why it took me so long to come back. It took me that long to accept that it wasn't a hallucination."

His guilt was palpable. Cuddy could feel it in every word. He never tried to claim innocence, never tried to defend himself at all. Even to her, he wasn't trying to justify it. He'd broken that day just as much as she had. "I don't need an explanation, House. Just tell me about it. Tell me what you were thinking. What happened. Help me understand. Because one second I was in my living room and the next second there was a horrific crash and you were handing me my brush." She squeezed his leg again, offering quiet reassurance. This wasn't about blame. Wasn't about anger. Wasn't about judgment. This was a need for understand. A need to move on.

"I wasn't thinking, Cuddy. I… I was going to return your brush. That's all. Then I saw you and your dinner party and your date. It hurt to see you moving on when I felt so stuck. When I told Wilson to get out of the car, I was just going to drive away. I was just going to pack my stuff and leave. I couldn't be there and watch you move on. Seeing you with Lucas was bad enough. Seeing you with someone else after having you would have killed me. So I was going to leave. I don't know why I turned around. I don't remember anything from Wilson getting out of the car until I was walking away. I can't help you understand. I still don't understand."

"God, House. I'm so sorr—"

He sat up straighter and hooked a finger under her chin. "No, Cuddy. Don't apologize. Not for that. You don't get to feel guilty for that."

"House, you were flailing for months, and I refused to see it. I refused to help. I pushed you to talk that day, and you said you were hurt. And I still didn't try to help you."

"You couldn't. Like you said, you had the hospital, and Rachel, and—"

"And _you_. But I didn't try to help you. I—"

"You came when I called. When I needed you. I didn't let you in."

"You never did when you needed help the most, House. And those were the times I failed you most. Before Mayfield. After the breakup. I—"

"Cuddy, stop. It's not your fault. None of it is your fault. You had a life. Other things to worry about. You couldn't save me every time."

"I didn't save you at all."

"You're here now. You're trying to now."

House slid over on the bed and reached out an arm, silently asking her to join him. She curled up beside him and rested her head on his chest. "I wasn't moving on, House. Julia said I was stuck and tried to set me up with Jerry, but I wasn't moving on. I couldn't. I've never been able to move on from you." She tilted her head up to look at him. "I've loved you since Michigan. I'll never be able to move on without you."

He nuzzled his face into her hair. "I'm here, Cuddy. I'm here."

Still looking at him, she reached up and grabbed his chin. "But if you _ever_ do something like that to me again, I'll kill you myself."

He chuckled at her threat, but his tone was somber as he replied, "Not if I do it myself."

As the adrenaline waned, exhaustion threatened to overwhelm both of them. House sunk down on the bed, pulling Cuddy with him. She curled further around him, scissoring her legs around his, and traced lazy circles on his chest with her finger. He rubbed his hand up and down her side before he stopped and gave a puzzled look. "You're naked under this robe."

She reached over and stilled his hand, lacing her fingers in his. "Yeah, but we're both too tired to do anything about it now."

His eyes fluttered with a tired "Hmmmmmm."

Sleepily, she remembered her musings about hope and wanted to share before they drifted off. "Hey House, you were talking about hope earlier. Remember Pandora's box?"

He opened one eye, fighting the sleep that was trying to claim him. "You mean the story where hope was the greatest evil of all?"

Cuddy swatted at his chest, "No, the one that said that once all the evils were released into the world, only hope remained."

Pulling her tighter, he mumbled, "We'll debate that philosophy later. Sleep."

They fell into a comfortable slumber, interrupted only by the sound of her phone ringing in her bedroom hours later.


	12. Chapter 12

* * *

_One word frees us of  
all the weight and pain of life:  
That word is love._

-Sophocles

* * *

The ringing of her phone seemed more shrill than usual as it pulled Cuddy from her slumber. She didn't want to leave the comfortable cocoon of House's arms. As crazy as it sounded, even to her, she felt _safe_ lying next to him. For the first time in years, it felt like everything in her world was back in place, and she knew it would all be shattered once she answered that call. Shifting on the bed, she nuzzled her face into House's chest and tried to block out the ring.

His voice still gravelly from sleep, House mumbled, "You plan on answering that anytime soon?"

Cuddy buried her face into him as she slowly shook it side to side before answering with a sigh, "No, I really don't want to."

Lifting his head from the pillow to see her face, House raised an eyebrow in question. It wasn't like Cuddy to ignore her phone… well, at least not the Cuddy he'd known. She was always too concerned there was a crisis at the hospital to manage or that Rachel would need something. She was always braced to handle whatever was thrown her way without a second thought. That she would ignore her phone now, especially after days away from her hospital puzzled him.

With a deep sigh, Cuddy drew her lips into a thin line and looked up to meet his puzzled gaze and asked, "What if it's about Wilson?"

House dropped his head back to the pillow and stared up at the ceiling before he ran a hand over his face. "He's dead, Cuddy. You know that. I know that. We saw him. Answering the phone or not answering it isn't going to change anything. He's going to be dead no matter what."

Silence came over the room again as the ringing stopped and her phone switched over to voicemail. Feeling the hitch in her breath in response to his words, House pulled her tighter against him and rubbed his hand down her arm. Comforting someone didn't come naturally to him, but he felt like he needed to ease the blow of that statement. He knew he'd been blunt, but denial wouldn't serve her any purpose. She knew Wilson was gone. The phone call _shouldn't_ change anything. He scooted back to sit up against the headboard and lifted his chin so he could look he in the eye as he finally found the words he thought might offer her some comfort. "Hey, we did the right thing. He _wanted_ this. He _needed_ it, Cuddy. The last couple weeks weren't great… you saw him on a good day, but he didn't have many of them anymore. It was time." He studied her, trying to read the emotion in her eyes. Cuddy worried her bottom lip between her teeth as she contemplated what he said so he continued, "He was having trouble breathing. The cancer had either spread to his lungs or was starting to crush his trachea. He was weak most days." Sleep still clouded his thoughts as he rubbed his face with both hands. "I hope that call was about him. It means they found him. That he's not alone in that cheap room anymore. It means everything is going like we planned. Now the biggest part of the plan is keeping _you_ safe in all of this. So you need to act normal. And the most abnormal thing for you would be not responding to that call quickly."

Two separate dings had come from down the hall while he spoke, alerting Cuddy to both a voicemail and a text message. She knew House was right. She knew she had to pull herself away to respond to those notifications soon. Anyone who would call her about Wilson would know she always had her phone with her. They would know how quickly she typically responded to messages. Hiding from the news wouldn't change anything and might arouse suspicion. With a deep breath and a squeeze of House's arm, she finally sat up and threw her legs over the side of the bed.

As she stood, House pushed himself off the headboard and started to rise to follow.

"No, wait here. I'll be back."

He nodded in reply and watched as she straightened her shoulders and pulled her robe tighter around her as she left the room. He wondered if she would come back to take the call or if she felt like she should be alone for it. Grabbing his ball from where it rested next to him on the mattress, he rolled it over his thigh. Spasms were building, and he needed to find some way to relieve them to deal with the hours ahead. Cuddy would likely delve into her grief after the call, and they still needed to call Stacy. Imaging how _that_ conversation would go, he let out a low groan. He was going to be stuck dealing with the emotions of the two women he'd ever loved. Dying really would have been easier.

As he steeled himself for the emotional outbursts that surely lay ahead, House heard the sounds of one starting down the hall. He couldn't hear what she was saying, but he recognized the loud stomps as she paced and her clipped, angry tone. This was… unexpected. He was preparing himself for grief and tears, but he only heard sounds of fury from her. Panic gripped him as he realized the last time he heard her this angry was during the Tritter debacle. _No_ , he told himself, _it's not possible_. He gripped his bad thigh to swing his legs over the side of the bed and mentally catalogued everything from the last 48 hours. He had to figure out where they went wrong and how any suspicion could have been directed at her. Pushing himself off the bed, he limped to the door determined to fix this. He'd ruined Cuddy's life once before. He couldn't let it happen now. Not for this.

It was only once he stood in the hallway that he could hear her words from her bedroom and felt himself relax.

"Yes, Jules, I know. I thought I'd be there today too. I'm sorry. Something came up that I _had_ to take care of." He listened to her deep breaths as she paused, obviously listening to her sister on the other end. " _No Julia!_ Nothing is more important than my daughter! I do not put my career over her and I don't appreci—" He knew he should go back to the guest room and give Cuddy her privacy for this conversation, but he felt drawn to listen more. He rationalized it was self-preservation. He was stuck here with her. He needed to know how angry she was and what he would be left to deal with after this call. Still, that didn't explain why he took another step toward her door. "I know you have three kids of your own to deal with. I'm sorry your niece is such an inconvenience to you. I thought you might enjoy spending some time with her." House could only imagine how Julia was laying into her as he reached her doorway and leaned against it. She was pacing the floor in front of her bed, her anger apparent in every step. When she turned back in his direction, she met his gaze and rolled her eyes, throwing her hand in the air. "Yes, I know you think if I'd have found a man, I wouldn't have to rely on family in these emergencies. Don't worry about it. I'll take care of it. I'll make sure Rachel is out of your hair as soon as I can." Cuddy didn't give her sister a chance to reply, quickly pressing the button to end the call before throwing the phone on her bed.

With an angry growl, she roughly raked her hands in her hands and turned to him. "Sorry about that. My sister—"

"Is the Wicked Witch of Jersey?"

Tension melted off of her, and her shoulders dropped as she gave a small laugh. "Yeah, something like that. And she's not happy about keeping Rachel so I have to find a way to get her today." Her eyes flicked to the alarm clock on the nightstand before she sighed. "We didn't sleep as long as I thought. I guess there's still time to drive up there and back today."

House raised a skeptical eyebrow at her, "Think that's best? You still look exhausted. It's a lot of driving."

Worrying her lip between her teeth, Cuddy dropped onto the bed and smoothed the sheets with her hand. "I know. I am. But if I don't get her, Julia's just going to be an even bigger bitch about it." She dug the heels of her hands into her eyes and heaved with a sigh, "I could take the train over and back. I'd just need to check the schedules for today."

She reached back to grab her phone from behind her and search for train schedules when House limped over and sat beside her, taking the phone from her hand. He could see from the shallow breaths and sharp, quick rise and fall of her chest that she was on the verge of hyperventilating.

"Breathe, Cuddy. What did she say?"

With a wry chuckle, Cuddy dropped her head onto his shoulder and murmured, "Nothing new really. I put my career over my daughter. I should have found a man to play dad for her. It's my fault I'm in this position. I suck as a mother… the usual."

The last line caught him off-guard as it triggered a flashback to everything during the Tritter debacle. He remembered glaring at her in the shower and telling her she would suck at being a mother. It was just another thing to regret in the long list of ways he'd hurt Cuddy. Why she was here with him now, trying to help him out of the mess he created, he still couldn't understand. She shouldn't want him around, not after all he'd done to her. Not after all the ways he'd hurt her. He shook his head to clear the thoughts and wrapped his arm around her. Now, someone else was using those same words to hurt her, and he couldn't help feeling defensive of her.

"Julia's an idiot. You're a great mom. You know that, right?" He felt her nod against his chest, but the hitch in her breath betrayed her. Cuddy was the best at putting on a mask and appearing confident to the world, but he knew the insecurities she held deep. He knew she felt like she continually had to prove herself. She'd spent too long, too much, trying to become a mother, and it didn't take much to make her doubt herself. He pulled her closer and nuzzled her chin against the top of her head. "What happened? I know you and the Wicked Witch weren't always close, but I thought things were getting better. You made her Rachel's guardian. You were…" he cringed as he struggled to find a way to reference their worst moment, "you were having dinner parties."

Cuddy's head dropped, her chin tucking into her chest, not wanting to have this conversation with him. Her relationship with her sister had always been strained, and they were just starting to build one when House quite literally _crashed_ their dinner party. After that, the tenuous relationship was even more strained than it had been. Julia's criticism of her life, her choices, her career, her relationships… everything… escalated after that day. As Cuddy drew weary of hearing how she had personally risked all of their lives by ever having House as part of her life, she distanced herself from her Julia more. After she broke things off with Paul, the dance dad, Julia's insistence that all of Cuddy's problems came from her refusal to find a good relationship, and Cuddy pulled away even more. She didn't want to tell House that though. She didn't want to admit that it was more than his car, more than her house, more than her relationship with him that was wrecked that day. With a sigh, she whispered, "House, don't…"

"What?"

"Just… don't. You don't want to know."

There was only one reason Cuddy would be loathed to share details of her fallout with Julia. House knew it and grimaced at the thought. The list of things he'd cost her was adding up—her home, her job, the closeness she'd shared with Wilson, and now, her relationship with her sister too. Once again, he wondered what she was doing. Why she would even entertain the idea of having him here. Why she would even think to help him out of the mess he'd created. Dropping his arm, House stiffened. The truth was, he was poison to Cuddy and had ruined everything for her. He couldn't stay, not to ruin her new life. But after being with her, after _having_ her again, he wasn't sure he could leave.

_She needs you just as much as you need her_.

The line from Wilson's letter resounded in his head. No, Wilson was wrong. Cuddy didn't need him. She was better off without him. But at the same time, Wilson was right. House needed her.

Lost in his thoughts, he didn't feel Cuddy move until she was standing in front of him, cupping his face in both hands. The pad of her thumb lightly skimmed the growth on his jaw. He lifted his gaze to meet hers, silently trying to tell her everything he felt. _I'm sorry. I need you. I love you._

As if she heard his silent declarations, Cuddy slowly nodded and rubbed her hand back from his cheek to his hair before leaning in and planting a delicate kiss to his forehead. "Enough about Julia. I just need to figure out how to get Rachel home, and we still need to call Stacy." The slight movement of his arm as House rubbed his thigh caught her attention. "And while I do that, you should go soak your leg."

A quirked eyebrow and sly grin spread over House's face. "You sure you don't want to join me for a special secret bath."

Her wry laugh filled the room as she remembered the last special "secret bath" they shared. "I… think I'll pass on that one. You and your anus can enjoy the burn if you'd like, but my lady parts are happy without it."

With a dramatic flair, House gasped and clutched his chest, "Did I teach you nothing, Lisa Cuddy? The burning means it's _working_."

For the first time in years, he watched her eyes light with a twinkle as a smile crept over her face. It wasn't the smile she reserved for donors nor the smile to hide the sadness she felt. House felt his heart skip as the throaty chuckle fell from her lips. "You definitely taught me something… how fast a cripple can climb out of a tub."

"You wound me, Cuddy. That was a magical moment." His playful tone betrayed his sad declaration. Cuddy looked at him fondly, reminded of how playful he could be when they were together. It was like she was sharing that playful morning with him again, when they forgot everything outside his apartment and focused on one another. She missed that, and she wanted more of those mornings with him. The thought of everything they had to do to have that overwhelmed her.

She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth and stepped closer to him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. "Yeah, it was a pretty magical moment. And we'll have more. For now, you go soak. I need to make some calls."


	13. Chapter 13

* * *

_True friends will always  
push you towards  
the great possibilities of  
your future.  
_

_-Seth Brown_

* * *

Cuddy slid her hands from his neck and down his arms, grasping House's hand and giving a squeeze as she walked him to her master bathroom.

If he believed in Heaven, House would have said that Cuddy's bathroom would have to be there. The large soaking tub looked deep enough for him to fully submerge and long enough for him to stretch out. The spacious walk in shower offered a wide bench. The ceramic tiles actually felt warm under his feet—from the dial on the wall, he deduced they were heated. He limped to the tub and closed his eyes in relieved anticipation when he saw the jets that lined it.

Tracing her fingers slowly on his back, Cuddy smiled as she saw his shoulders relax. "Go on. Get in. I'll get you a towel."

House felt her slide beside him and watched as she flipped a switch on the towel rack that hung on the wall. With a raised eyebrow, he turned his head toward her. "Heated?"

She chuckled and nodded before she slipped out of the bathroom. When she returned, towel in hand, House was reclined in the tub, head resting on a small bath pillow and eyes closed. The low hum of the jets masked the sound of her footsteps as she approached, gently hanging the towel on the rack. She stood and watched him for a moment. His right knee was bent, fingertips digging into the deep scar on his thigh. His brows were furrowed in pain, drawing a frown from her.

His pain seemed worse than she remembered it being. It was his constant companion, but she hadn't seen him as effected by it since… well, since those horrible months after his infarction. Worrying her lip between her teeth, she lowered herself to sit on the edge of the tub and ran her fingers through his hair.

"You just going to sit there and stare at me or are you going to join me?"

Pulled from her worried thoughts, she gave him a small smile. "No Casanova, I've still got calls to make, remember?"

Her eyes trailed down to his scar. The skin around it was swollen and reddened. It had changed since the last time she saw it—puckered in more places. New lines ran across the area. She shuddered seeing it, reminded of the night she found him covered in blood in his bathtub. The tumors and surgeries (both his self-surgery and the emergency surgery at the hospital) had changed the canvas of his thigh. Cuddy shook her head to clear the thoughts. She couldn't go there. Not right now. Thinking of that night would lead her to thinking about the long days after—the days she tried to reconnect with him, their argument in the hall, and then… the crash. That was the past. She wanted to leave it there. She was happier with him here than she had been in years. They'd already talked about that horrible day. She couldn't—didn't want to—let the hurt and anger and bitterness creep back in. She was ready to move on, but just the sight of the scar was dragging her right back to those days.

Sensing her tension, House cracked an eye open. "You okay?"

She wasn't. She was lost in her thoughts—doubts and fears and old hurts still weighing on her heavily as she tried to fight them back. She couldn't tell him that though. She'd already spent so much time reassuring him that they would be okay. That this could work. If she told him that she was still wrestling with the past herself, she was sure he would run. They would lose this chance.

"I'm good. _We're_ good. I'm just trying to prepare for these calls. I need more coffee first though. Want me to bring you a cup?"

A delighted moan answered her. "A jetted tub and coffee delivery? I take back all those times I called you She-Devil." Through the slit of his eye, House gazed down at her robe. "And you're still naked under that robe… woman, you are perfect."

She rose with a laugh and pressed a light kiss to his forehead before turning toward the door.

"Hey Cuddy…"

When she looked back over his shoulder, he was resting his head on the pillow with his eyes closed again. He didn't make eye contact as his voice dopped when he asked, "Could you bring Wilson's letter with the coffee? It's on the kitchen counter."

She lowered her head and nodded, hoping he would understand her response even if he couldn't see her. The grief knotted in her throat, making it impossible to reply as she slipped out of the bathroom.

* * *

The bathwater was tepid by the time House opened his eyes again. Cuddy's conversation with Julia weighed heavily on his mind. The Cuddy sisters had never been particularly close, but it seemed like they were slowly bridging the gap between them before Cuddy left Princeton. Julia and her family had moved closer and they were spending time together. Shopping trips, lunches, and… ill-fated dinner parties. It seemed that tenuous bond had crashed down along with the dining room wall.

He'd been soaking a while, his hands and feet pruned, but he still needed time to think this through. On the night she broke up with him, Cuddy said he would always choose himself. He couldn't this time. He had to choose her, what was best for her. Unfortunately, choosing her might mean choosing to walk away. He'd created this mess for himself, and he couldn't drag her into it with him. He'd already cost her too much, and he could only imagine how much more she stood to lose if he stuck around. Her family would never support it. He couldn't imagine what her friends would think when they learned who he was and what he'd done. She'd built a nice life for herself, and he could only add misery to it.

_People who get close to you get hurt. That's a fact._

His memory taunted him with her words. He gripped his thigh as the tension rolled through him at the thought. She wasn't wrong. She'd been hurt… unimaginably. By him. And he could only see more hurt coming for her if he stayed.

_Damn you, Wilson. You should have kept her out of this._

Wilson. House wished he was here to talk this through. As annoying as the moralizing and meddling and lectures had been through the years, he wished he could have that now. Wilson would have been able to help him sort through this mess.

The envelope sat beside the now-cold coffee on the edge of the bathtub. Draining some of the chilling water and refilling the tub with hot water, he laid his head back and took a couple deep breaths before pulling the letter from the envelope.

_House-_

_Get it out of your system now. Call me a manipulative bitch, yenta, meddler. I hope that you're still with Cuddy when you read this and they all apply. Consider this my last and greatest meddle._

_You need her, House._

_I watched you two circle each other for years. I watched you both give some guarded, half-hearted, lame attempt at a relationship. I watched it all blow up. But one thing never changed. You need her. And she needs you just as much as you need her._

_You weren't the same when you came back from prison. Maybe on the surface you were, but not really. Of course you were still reckless and snarky and willing to mess with me and your team, but something had changed. I'm sure you're brushing it off now, saying prison changes people, but that wasn't it. You're not the same without her._

_She's not the same without you either._

_I know we never talked about it, but you need to know what it was like after that night. She was a mess that night and in shock. The next day though, she was… Cuddy. She was determined and focused and refused to let anyone see her sweat. But that sparkle in her eye was gone. It was like auto-pilot Cuddy, going through the motions. She said she needed to get away, away from the place so heavily marked by your presence._

_Funny she ended up in the city where you went to undergrad and started med school, isn't it?_

_She's rebuilt herself, but she's never got that fire and spark back. Then she walked into our room last night and saw you, and I saw it again. I watched her come alive during the poker game. I watched you, a "dead man" come alive again_. _I want that for the both of you._

_I know what you're planning, House. Don't do it. Be the man who comes back from the dead. If anything, it will screw with people more than if you were found dead beside me in a hotel room. Plus, we gave those gay rumors enough evidence (my proposal). Don't make that our legacy._

_I was wrong when I told you that you can't come back from this. You can, but you'll need her to do it. If anyone can figure out how to get you out of this, she can. And she will. Take it as the biggest bet we'll ever make that I say she will._

_Thank you for these last months. For being there. It was the greatest adventure I could have asked for. Now go start a new great adventure with Cuddy and be… not miserable. Maybe even try for happy._

_You need her. She needs you. She forgives you. Forgive yourself so you can move on._

_I'd say I'll see you on the other side, but you'd roll your eyes and tell me there is no other side. So just take this opportunity to make the most of what you have here. I know you'll both be okay if you're together through this._

_I love you._

_Wilson_

A tear rolled down his cheek as he folded the letter and set it aside.


End file.
